Not Just the One
by andromeda's song
Summary: How would Sherlock's life had been different if Dr. John Watson was not the first and only friend he admitted to having? In this timeline, Sherlock befriends a young woman named Kai during his teenage years. Observe the great detective and his first friend as they deal with life, death, love, and other tragedies.
1. Chapter One: Bullies

**Hello, all! This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, but I couldn't hold back any more after reading so many amazing fanfics. Please read, review, and help me become an active participant in this amazing community. **

**I don't own Sherlock in this incarnation or any previous. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting alone in a 12x12 apartment eating cereal straight from the box. Or would I?**

Chapter One: Bullies

Sixteen year old Sherlock Holmes was not one for holding back when the opportunity to deduce another human to shreds presented itself. By this stage in his life, he had already committed himself to believing that sentimentality and rampant emotionalism was a waste of time and a distraction from the important work that needed doing. Normal people were emotional. Well, normal people were also idiots and Sherlock Holmes was neither normal nor an idiot.

Sherlock had been working on a complicated series of chemical tests in his room at the ridiculously high-class boarding school in which Mummy had placed him. She did not seem to understand that this school would most likely be no different than the three other boarding schools he had attended so far. They were all the same…filled with dull people leading dull lives. Although the boarding schools provided people for him to observe that had a greater median intelligence, they were still no match for the excessive brilliance of one Sherlock Holmes. As such, the people he met fell prey to the age-old human reaction to things they don't understand. Their perception of Sherlock was hovering on a knife's edge between fear and hatred. He might be willing to say that most of them held a grudging respect for his intellect, but no one would dare ever admit it the egotistical genius anyway.

Since the experiments bubbling away in the beakers and tubes in his chambers needed time to percolate, Sherlock had decided to give himself a fifteen minute break. He had travelled outside to the grounds, hoping to find solitude and quiet in the gardens. Mindful of a watchful groundskeeper off in the distance, Sherlock eased his way through the rows of rosebushes and found a soft patch of grass. He lay down, mindful of the springy green stuff and the fact that he was wearing his uniform. The afternoon sun had passed behind the dormitory and the chill of evening was beginning to set in, but Sherlock was comfortable and maybe even a little at peace. He steepled his fingers under his chin and let his thoughts drift off to his mind-palace.

I wish I could tell you that sixteen year old Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon in that quiet place organizing his mind-palace, but it would be a vicious lie.

Sherlock hadn't been in his mind-palace for five minutes when he began to suspect that someone was watching him. He was in Mycroft's wing—the git's birthday was approaching, and even though both Holmes brothers had sworn off sentiment, birthdays were still celebrated, albeit without the little cone-shaped hats and off-key singing. He retreated from his palace and quirked open an eye, hoping that the groundskeeper was just passing through. However, the faces that glared down at Sherlock Holmes in the garden did not belong to Charley the groundskeeper or any other staff for that matter.

_Fantastic_.Sherlock barely suppressed a small groan as he sat up and faced three teenage boys all dressed as he was, in their grey and burgundy school uniforms. The ringleader of the small group was standing point in front of the other two. Sherlock had faced many bullies in his short life on planet Earth (not that he knew anything about the solar system), but Andrew Riordan and his minions were the most…unpleasant he had met of late. Andrew's shock of spiky black hair matched the color of Sherlock's own soft ebony curls, but that's about where the comparisons ended.

"Hey Sherly," Andrew sneered as he nodded his chin violently in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock had long ago distanced himself from any emotional reaction to the use of the name "Sherly"—really is was a pathetic attempt to…what was that phrase… 'get a rise out of him.' Sherlock had learned that he could easily avoid a row—and therefore the bruises—if he simply learned to stop caring.

"Sherly," Sherlock sighed. "How droll. I'm quite sure I've never heard _that_ one before, Andrew. Really, you must think of better ways to spend your time. Your work in finding new ways to insult me has obviously failed."

"You think you're so smart, Sherly," Andrew shot back at him, curling his hand into a fist at his side.

"_Au contraire_, Andrew," Sherlock stated in a flawless accent. "I _know_ I'm so smart. For example, I know that your parents have gotten divorced…in the past week too. My condolences, Andrew that must be hard for you and your…what, two younger brothers? Oh no, my apologies, younger brother and sister. Do they know that your father was having an affair?"

For the briefest of moments, Andrew Riordan blanched and his eyes widened fractionally. His sidekicks didn't see it, but he knew Sherlock Holmes did. He cursed under his breath.

"Shut up, freak. You don't know anything about me. You're just a freak of nature and you like to talk about our families because your own doesn't care about you."

Inside his chest, Sherlock's heart twanged ever so slightly at Riordan's comment. Sherlock almost looked down at the offending organ, but he didn't. He'd have to catalogue that reaction to the insult later. Meanwhile, one of Andrew's thugs had started to ask a question.

"But Andrew, how'd he know that?" The blonde boy to Andrew's left was attempting to stage whisper the question, his curiosity clearly getting the best of him. Andrew threw a glare at him but Sherlock's keen hearing caught everything. And when Sherlock Holmes catches an opportunity to deduce someone to shreds, he takes advantage of it.

"It's all quite elementary, really," Sherlock began. "His right sleeve tells us all that we need to…"

And that's all the farther Sherlock Holmes was able to deduce about Andrew Riordan before Andrew threw a fist into Sherlock's face.


	2. Chapter Two: The First Fantastic

Chapter Two: The First Fantastic

The action of Andrew's punch was backed up by a tremendous amount of power, no doubt a combination of strong biceps conditioned by the rowing team and a ridiculous amount of pent-up anger. Sherlock felt his nose start to stream blood as he reeled back from the attack. Within seconds of the punch, Andrew and his two mates were on him, punching and kicking and…good heavens, did one of them really just bite him?

Sherlock tried to level himself against his bullies, but three on one was not the best odds. But suddenly, all four boys heard a gruff male voice yell out,

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Andrew Riordan, recognizing the voice of Charley the groundskeeper, gestured to his friends and they dashed out of the garden, leaving a bloodied and bruised Sherlock Holmes on the grass. Sherlock took the opportunity to breathe fresh air into his lungs (through his mouth since his nose was still oozing blood), but he winced as the action caused his ribs to twinge painfully. _Broken?_ He breathed in again and evaluated. _No, just sprained and probably bruised to hell_.

He took in the rest of his injuries with a calm eye (a sore one too…probably blackened as well). Once he had catalogued his aches and pains, he looked around, surprised that Charley hadn't made his way into the garden yet. Sherlock had heard his voice just as clearly as Andrew had. He had obviously come across the boys, but now he was nowhere to be found. _Interesting_.

Sherlock was saved from further speculation as a rustle came from one of the neighboring shrubs. He squinted his grey-green eyes as the shrub rustled a little more before a tall, thin girl appeared beside it. Sherlock blinked a couple of times at the stranger. Her uniform indicated that she was a student here and the tips of her fingers indicated that she was a musician—cellist, most likely. He glanced up to see what else he could deduce about her as she walked closer, but then he stopped, blinking again in confusion and a certain amount of awe.

The new arrival in the garden could have been Sherlock's twin sister. She was tall and thin, just like Sherlock, although her face was a little rounder and her cheekbones less pronounced. Her hair was the same shade of inky black and twisted in the same unruly curls that framed her face. She had thinner lips, and they appeared to be painted a delicate shade of pink, but it was her eyes that made Sherlock stop. Her eyes were the mirror images of his. As she crouched down beside him, he could see the multitude of colors swirling about in the orbs, a delicate but frenzied mix of misty grey, sea-green, and ice blue, all tinged with a hint of gold near the pupils. Sherlock found himself drowning in those eyes, his mind screaming out against the unknown feelings that now were scrambled in his neural pathways. His brain exploded a little when she placed a thin hand under his chin and tilted his head back.

"Are you okay?" she asked. She had a rosy alto voice, a little smokier than Sherlock had been expecting from the willowy girl who was all elbows and knees. Sherlock nodded, unable to find words at the moment. The girl took out a white handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and held it up in front of him.

"I'm going to put this on your nose, okay? You're still bleeding a little." Again, Sherlock nodded mutely as the English language escaped him. He winced as she pressed the kerchief firmly against his nose. She took his hand and placed it on his own nose.

"Keep that there, okay? Hold tight, it should stop in a second or two."

He held on to the handkerchief and stared at the girl dumbly as she proceeded to run her musician's fingers over the skin around his face, his temples, through his unruly mess of curls, down his neck to the collar of his shirt, and finally over the skin of his hands. Her touch was gentle as she sought out any more injuries that might be leaking blood.

"Well that's all the blood I can find," she said, pointing to his nose. "You'll probably have lots of bruises and that shiner on your eye is going to be a little bugger for a few weeks. You've probably got some sprained ribs under there too, hmm?"

Sherlock just couldn't take it any longer. "You live near the ocean with your grandmother. She keeps cats, two of them by the looks of it, and you despise them but you don't say anything because they keep her company while you're at school. You don't take any milk or sugar in your tea, you had an oatmeal biscuit after lunch, you play the cello, you're left handed, and you were recently vacationing somewhere warm… Cairo, I think." He took a deep breath which made his lungs burn and his ribs ache. There. It was all out. Now came the fury, the rage, and the hateful name-calling. He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught from the pretty stranger.

It never came. Instead, Sherlock was positively baffled when she began to chuckle. It was a silvery sound that bubbled out from behind the thin pink lips and reached all the way up to her cool grey eyes that so closely matched his. Sherlock felt a strange twinge in his stomach that he couldn't identify. On the one hand, he was relieved—did he actually feel _relieved_?—that she had not exploded at him, but he couldn't help but think that now she was laughing at him. It was not a typical reaction and it threw him off. He tried to stand up in order to get away from her, but his legs would not cooperate and the sand in his head shifted around and caused little stars to appear in his vision. He felt the girl's firm hand on his arm as she pushed him back down as well.

"You probably shouldn't stand up at the moment, tiger." She chuckled again as his eyebrows attempted to crawl off his face in response to the pet name she used. She had a soft Irish lilt in her accent that played with his ear in a funny way. He grudgingly rested back in the grass and glanced over at her again. She had a bright smile on her face, revealing her even teeth.

"By the way," she said conversationally, "that was fantastic."

Sherlock Holmes' heart palpitated inside his chest. He felt a little flutter in his stomach as his brain tried to process this sentiment. Fantastic? That was the first time ever in his life that anyone had ever called his deductions fantastic. In fact… he retreated into his eidetic memory for a moment… it was the only time anyone had ever used that word to describe his deductions. What the deuce was this? Who was this girl?


	3. Chapter Three: It's Short for Kainat

Chapter Three: It's Short for Kainat

"Don't you… umm, aren't you going to ask me how I knew that?" Sherlock asked the girl, completely dumbfounded that she hadn't run off screaming. He was particularly grateful that she hadn't smacked him…another physical injury on top of his other ones would not have been good.

"Oh, do you want me too?" the girl responded. "I figured you might tell me, but if you want me to ask I can. Although the part about the cats wasn't too impressive seeing as how I've got cat hair all over my stockings and I've been picking them off almost the entire time I've been sitting here."

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped and stared at her. She knew that his incredibly grey-green eyes damn near matched hers, and that his dark curled hair was the same color as hers, although hers was a mite longer. She had been watching this strange boy for a few weeks, seeing the things that no one else cared to see. He took all of his meals—when he did eat, that is—alone and he only ate sparingly and quickly. She often saw him curled up in the oddest places around campus with his nose in large, complicated textbooks about chemistry, anatomy, physiology, and sociology. He had never noticed her—she guessed that he didn't really notice anyone who was not an instructor or a bully. He was always alone and she could tell that he thought that protected him. And now she had butted her way into his space, showing him tenderness, care, and even a little bit of admiration and she could see that it was making his mind explode with new data.

"Well go on then," she prompted him. "Tell me how it's done." And she sat there, picking cat hair off her stockings as she listened to a hesitant, quiet tirade about the sandy crust on her shoes, the cat hair, the stains on her teeth, the crumbs on her shirt, and the smudges of ink on her hands. When he finished off about how she had recently been to Cairo, she sat back in the grass with him.

"Fantastic," she repeated, flashing Sherlock a quick but brilliant smile. His eyes widened fractionally, but he stowed the reaction away in his mind-palace. He would have to add a new room in his mind-palace later just for this girl and the strange effect she had on him. There was so much to catalogue just from this brief human interaction. He decided to experiment a little further.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he stated, holding out his hand. The girl looked him in the eyes, the dual grey orbs absorbing each other, and then she took the proffered hand in hers and shook it.

"You can call me Kai," she said as they released each other's hands. She observed the typical reaction to her name; a raised eyebrow and a small quirk of lips. "It's short for Kainat," she explained.

Sherlock very nearly gaped at the girl—Kai—he mentally corrected. His Urdu was a little rusty, but he knew enough to successfully translate her name.

"Kainat… Urdu for 'universe'" he stated factually. This earned him another grin.

"Of course you know Urdu. My family has strong Islamic roots under our family tree. My grandmother is a Muslim even though she doesn't really practice except for her prayers. She has raised me since my birth and insisted that I have a strong Islamic name. So, Kainat it is. Kainat O'Meara." Kai smiled a little more hesitantly this time. She usually didn't share that information with anyone. But she knew that Sherlock Holmes was different than anyone she'd ever met before.

In his own mind, Sherlock was struggling to maintain the walls he kept up around his persona. He never let anyone in…alone protected him and his mind was his own. But this girl was a wealth of new data that he couldn't resist. The Urdu/Irish name, the soft lilt in her accent, the way she called his deductions fantastic… it was startling to Sherlock just how much this new face intrigued him.

"Kainat," he intoned respectfully, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your assistance was most helpful."

She gave him that blinding grin again as she answered, "It was my pleasure, Sherlock. Andrew Riordan is a terror and it gave me a great thrill to chase him off."

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched up. "You chased him off? I thought I heard Charley the groundskeeper…"

Kai looked around before she leaned over and said, "Hey, what do you think you are doing?" The mellow alto voice had vanished and was replaced by an exact replication of Charley's gruff baritone voice. Sherlock's mouth dropped open on its own accord. The little minx knew voice manipulation! He felt his heart leap inside his ribcage. She wasn't boring at all, not this girl. Somewhere deep in the recesses of the great mind, a long abandoned neural pathway sparked briefly as the thought of having a genuine friend reached across the busy channels.

Kai stood up and brushed bits of grass and dirt off her jumper and her skirt. She reached down and offered Sherlock an arm up, an offer that he accepted considering that his ribs were starting to protest a little more loudly. He grasped her forearm with his large, bony hand and pushed off the ground as she tugged his lanky frame upwards. He tried to straighten to his full height but he jerked back as his abdomen shrieked in protest. Kai was almost Sherlock's height so she had no trouble in slipping her own thin arm around his waist and throwing his arm around her shoulders.

"We should take you to the nurse and get those ribs taped, if nothing else," Kai mused. Sherlock grunted in response. He had no love for doctors and nurse and the like, but he couldn't help but think that Kai was right.

"Alright, Kainat, but don't say that Riordan and his trolls hit me." Kai turned a puzzled glance on him as they started off out of the garden.

"What would you like me to say, Sherlock?" she asked. "It's not like I can say that you got mauled by a bear or anything."

"I don't know… just say I fell down the stairs or something."

"Sherlock…"

"Kai," he said, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "Please."

Her lips tightened and her eyes shifted into a more steel grey, but she bowed her head in acquiescence and kept moving. True to her word, when the nurse began tutting over the bruises and the bloody nose, Kai launched into a rather elaborate tale involving a banana peel, the marble staircase, and an out-of-control rolling book cart from the library. Sherlock had to hold back his chuckles, which was easier than he imagined since the nurse was poking his sensitive ribs with gauze and tape. Girls were not allowed in the boy's dormitories, but the nurse gave Kai a pass so that she could help Sherlock get back to his room. With that, she shooed them gently away, requesting that Sherlock come back in a few days so that she could see how he was healing. Sherlock grunted, but Kai told her that they'd be back. The nurse watched them exit together and she marveled—not for the first time that evening—at how much the pair of them looked so similar.


	4. Chapter Four: ChemistryLeaves of Grass

Chapter Four: Chemistry and Leaves of Grass

Sherlock released himself from Kai's gentle grip and unlocked the door to his room. Kai looked up and down the hallways and—seeing no one—pushed open the door and entered Sherlock's room, leaving the boy in question staring after her.

Sherlock was once again completely baffled by Kai's behavior, but he followed her into his room. Females were strictly forbidden from being inside the male dormitories, but Sherlock closed the door behind him, figuring that the nurse's pass and his taped ribs would get them out of any potential trouble. Sherlock had no roommate so the likelihood of being disturbed in the moment was small. He gingerly made his way over to his bed, sitting down on the rumpled sheets as he watched Kai take in his room. She had gone straight for the impressive stand of books—all educational in nature, most of the textbooks or encyclopaedias—but now her attention was being drawn to the bubbling chemistry set on a table near the window. Wisely, she didn't touch anything, but she did poke her face a little bit closer to all of the science-y stuff.

"So you're testing the rate of decay that certain acids have on metal objects, specifically… iron and copper?" she asked without looking at him.

"Did you deduce that?" he asked back. He hadn't met anyone outside of Mycroft and Mummy who had the ability to deduce things like he could. His heart gave another little leap at the thought of being able to share that ability with Kai.

"Of course not," she stated perfunctorily. "But you have written it down in this little notebook here," she said, holding up the corresponding tablet.

"Oh." Sherlock deflated slightly. Okay, maybe she didn't have cosmic deductive powers like he did. But at least she observed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock," she said with a small grin. "But I don't have that ability. Not like you do anyway. How do you do that, anyway? It really is quite brilliant."

Sherlock felt the bands around his mind give a twang. He was normally so opposed to...well, everything that was going on right now. But once again he felt the strict regulations he kept breaking into tiny little pieces as he regarded the young woman in front of him.

"I merely observe," he stated simply. "Everybody sees, but nobody takes the time to observe. When you observe, you can make the logical transfer of knowledge and make a deduction." He sat quietly as she processed this. "It usually makes people terribly angry."

She gave a small laugh. "Well if Andrew Riordan's reaction is any indication, I'm surprised you aren't a constant shade of black and blue." She paused while Sherlock gave her a weak grin. She wasn't sure whether she should ask her next question, but she had an inkling of the answer Sherlock would give her, so she asked anyway.

"Why do they do it, Sherlock? Why do they hurt you like this?"

At least 10 immediate answers sprang to Sherlock's mind. He was almost a little irritated that she had asked. She was not as dull or stupid as others, surely she understood why. He was smarter, he posed a threat to their reputation, he had a keen intelligence they just didn't understand and that made him a threat… the reasons flooded his mind, but the words that slipped out of his mouth matched none of them.

"I don't know, Kai." His voice was soft and full of all manner of unspoken things. Sherlock belatedly realized that his eyes were filling up and to his horror, one single tear escaped and slid down his cheek. _Crying, Sherlock?!_ _Really? _He began to curse as he heard rather than saw Kai walk over and sit next to him on the bed. There was her cool hand under his chin again, and for the second time today, Kainat O'Meara lifted his head and looked him in the eyes. She released his chin and used her slightly calloused thumb to brush away the offending liquid from his face.

Kai could see that Sherlock was trying very hard not to allow this sort of emotional reaction to control him. She didn't understand what drew her to this young man, but the almost magnetic pull was there nonetheless. Her _sitto _did not believe in soul mates, but Kai was not her _sitto. _She believed—like most of her friends—that a soul mate was merely a person with whom you shared a deeper connection. It could be anyone—a friend, a lover, a parent, a sibling, a teacher. Kai had a small circle of close friends at home, but the pull she felt towards Sherlock Holmes, especially in this moment…she knew that she had found a soul mate.

In order to preserve his dignity, she stowed those thoughts away and gave him her deepest and most sincere smile. She patted his cheek lightly and then stood up and faced the chemistry set again.

"Well," she said. "Come along and tell me what all of this stuff is."

Sherlock granted her a genuine smile of gratitude, a tweaking of facial muscles used so rarely that they almost forget the motions. He stood and joined her at the table, launching into a thorough explanation of the parameters of his experiment. She would stop him every now and again to ask questions about a specific chemical property or why he had chosen the combinations. Her questions weren't just general and dull, but focused on specifics of the project and always tinged with actual curiosity. When he finished his explanation, she gave a satisfied nod and turned to sit down in his desk chair.

Sherlock returned to his bed and propped his back against the wall. He fixed his gaze on her as she reclined in the chair, one thin leg crossed over the other.

"So what do you do?" he asked, now wanting to have more data about this curious girl.

"I'm afraid you wouldn't be interested in what I do," Kai responded, a small nugget of embarrassment worming its way into her features.

"Oh?" Sherlock queried. He could read the embarrassment in her body language, but he was ever so curious as to what Kai could possibly be embarrassed about.

"You will no doubt find it very dull," she stated, but she stood and retrieved her messenger bag from the floor. She flipped open the satchel and retrieved a worn hardback book from inside. The edges of the book were smoothed and the binding had been bowed lovingly. Sherlock observed the book and Kai's obvious sentimental attachment to it. He tilted his head and read the spine.

"_Leaves of Grass_," Sherlock read out loud. Poetry. He couldn't resist feeling a slight tug of annoyance in his brain. He had always categorized poetry as useless sentiment written by people who had boring lives and no clear contribution to society. He tried not to let his thoughts show on his face, but from the look on Kai's face, he knew he hadn't been successful. She had a small, sad smile plastered on her face.

"I'm a poet, Sherlock. A writer, to be more general, but a poet at heart." She gave no apologies, no excuses or diatribes. She merely waited to see if Sherlock would accept that.

"Alright," he said slowly, nodding his head towards her in a silent acquiescence of her. She gave a more genuine smile before walking over towards the bed. She kicked off her shoes and shooed him up towards the headboard.

"Go on, Sherlock," she said. "Budge over a bit." He acknowledged her request with a rather bewildered stare, but scooted himself over so that he was now lying down, stretched out on the bed, and Kai was sitting with her back against the wall, her legs tucked underneath her. She opened the book and began to read to him the words of the American poet.

"_I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, but I do not talk of the beginning or the end. _

_There was never any more inception than there is now, nor any more youth or age than there is now, and will never be any more perfection than there is now, nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. _

_Urge and urge and urge, always the procreant urge of the world, out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life…"_

Sherlock listened without complaint, allowing Kai's mellow alto to wash over his weary body. He listened to the words of the poetry and he was almost shocked to discover that he felt no impatience, no need to mock the sentiment, and no desire to replace the words with ones of objectivity. For the first time in many, many years, Sherlock Holmes' mind quieted and granted him the serenity to enjoy the moment.


	5. Chapter Five: Esperanto, If You Please

Chapter Five: Esperanto, If You Can Manage

Kai was sitting in the dining hall alone, wedging herself into a small table in the farthest corner of the room next to the windows overlooking the sweeping lawns. She had a steaming china cup in front of her and the warm smell of jasmine tea was soothing. She was hip-deep in a collection of poetry by Langston Hughes, another nod to her love of contemporary American poetry. There was something less stuffy about their words…something more revolutionary and more profound and that appealed to Kai's personality. Between the silence in the hall, the warmth of the tea in her stomach, and the words on the pages in front of her, Kai O' Meara was content.

A flicker of movement at the periphery of her vision caught her attention. She flicked her eyes upward and caught sight of Sherlock Holmes moving towards her with a grace of motion that was almost unnatural for a teenage boy. But, Kai reflected, Sherlock was no ordinary teenage boy. _In fact_, she mused, _Sherlock is no ordinary anything_. She placed a marker in her book as he approached the table and sat down. He had his own cup of tea in his hands.

"Hey Sherlock," she greeted him as he wriggled in his seat. "What's happening?"

"Bored," Sherlock intoned in a ringing monotone that echoed in the empty space. Sherlock and Kai had been… "friends" for the past five weeks. (Kai hesitated on the words "friend" because she considered Sherlock her friend, but she was pretty sure Sherlock had never had a friend. Besides, who liked labels anyway?) In that five weeks, Kai had observed Sherlock in his many moods, including this one. Sherlock was hell on wheels when he was bored.

"Have you finished that study on the effects of acid rain on earthworm populations, then?" When he nodded in affirmation, she asked, "What about that anthropology textbook you've been waiting for? Has it arrived yet?"

"Obviously not, otherwise I would not be bored," Sherlock retorted with a bite in his voice. "Really, Kai, you must learn to observe these things, I tire of explaining myself."

Okay. Kai was feeling blissfully content with her tea and her poetry, and Sherlock's snide mannerisms were not going to be glossed over so easily today.

"Look, _a chara_, I am feeling very content today, and I won't be having any of your snarkiness. If you are so bored that you feel the need to come a sap me of my serenity, then be off with you, because I'll have none of it."

Sherlock's mind was buzzing with the unshakable energy that accompanied his boredom. His mind craved the stimulation of thought and work. When he had entered the room, his mind had been a hive of whirling colors and sounds, everything too bright and loud. Now, as Kai finished her admonishment, all of the noises in his head came screeching to a stop as he tried to process what she had said.

File 1: _A chara_… Irish greeting/term of endearment. Meaning—friend. _What?_

File 2: A book… Title: Collected Works of Langston Hughes. More American poetry. _Dull_

File 3: Tea. Jasmine. _Her favorite_.

File 4: _Has she actually told me off?_

Sherlock's synapses fired off these files into his mind palace in 3.4 seconds flat. He looked at her again. Her eyes were almost totally steel grey flecked with gold. _A bit not good_. He had learned to identify her moods by the precise coloring of her eyes within the past few weeks. All grey usually meant not good. He reflected on the fourth file that he had sent off to her wing in his mind. He had done something wrong now, hadn't he? _Shite_. He stood and made to leave, murmuring something about nitric acid and hardwood flooring.

Kai watched him process her outburst and watched as his face fell ever so minutely. He stood and began to stalk off, muttering something about the nitric acid and the floors. She sighed. She was being unfair. Sherlock had some serious issues and she shouldn't judge him for that. She didn't have to tolerate his terseness, but she could try to educate him otherwise.

"Sherlock," she called. He stopped in the middle of the hall and gave a sharp about face in her direction. She put her book in her messenger bag and abandoned her cup on the table as she hurried over to him. She took his hand and led him outside to the grounds, heading off down the path that led to the small stream.

"Okay, Mr. I'm-Bored, we are going to walk through the woods and the gardens here. You are going to identify all of the plants and animals that we come across."

"You have got to be joking," Sherlock muttered. "I could do that when I was five."

"You didn't let me finish," Kai bantered. "You're going to identify them, first in Latin by genus and species, and then teach me their names in English, Italian, and German. And Esperanto, if you can manage." She gave him a slow, broad smile as he turned to stare at her. His mind hummed excitedly as he glanced around the path. He pointed to a growth of heather and launched in. "_Calluna vulgaris_…"

They'd been at it for roughly an hour (Sherlock's Esperanto was a tad rusty even though he was doing his best not to show it) when a young woman began calling Kai's name from across the grounds. Both Kai and Sherlock looked over to see who it was.

"That's Bronwyn," Kai said. "My roommate." Without further ado, she left the path and hurried over the grounds as fast as she could without destroying her decorum, Sherlock right on her heels.

Bronwyn had tears in her chocolate brown eyes and when Kai approached her, she flung her arms around Kai's neck and squeezed the tall girl hard. Kai grunted with surprise, but placed her arms around Bronwyn's waist and raised her eyebrow at Sherlock over her shoulder. When Bronwyn released Kai, she held up a small piece of paper.

"Kai, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have read it, but they dropped it off in our rooms and you weren't there. I just wanted to see if it was urgent enough for me to fetch you and… oh Kai I'm so sorry." Bronwyn let all of her words out in a rush, choking back more tears. She offered the note to Kai, who glanced first at Sherlock before accepting it from Bronwyn's shaking hands. Sherlock moved closer to Kai, as much to be near his… _friend_… as to get away from Bronwyn's emotional outburst. Sherlock read the note over Kai's shoulder.

_Kainat, _

_Your grandmother passed away today unexpectedly. I went over to check on her, and I found her in the bedroom. She looked very peaceful. _

_I am so sorry for your loss. Come and see me when you come back._

_Mrs. Callahan _


	6. Chapter Six: Pie

Chapter Six: Pie

Sherlock finished reading and launched into a mental exercise about what possibly could have killed Kai's grandmother. He ran a list of diseases that were known to be more prevalent in Middle Eastern families, cross referenced them with what he knew about Kai's family history, and added in the extra variables of her grandmother's physical attributes. There was always the potential for foul play, but that seemed less statistically likely given the parameters of the…

Sherlock's musings were interrupted by a strange sound coming from the body in front of him. He saw the note flutter to the ground and watched Kai's right hand come up to her face. The graceful head of ebony curls began to shudder and he was standing so close that he could feel the tremors start in her shoulders and back. He heard another choking sob come from her lungs and he panicked internally, not knowing what to do. All this sentiment… he didn't understand. Death was natural and everyone succumbed to it at some point. He timidly placed a thin hand on her shoulder. "Kainat?"

She spun around so fast that Sherlock was nearly thrown backwards as she thrust her face into his chest and clung to him. He could feel the warmth of her tears soaking through his shirt and the tremors from the racking sobs were even more pronounced. She mumbled, "_Sitto, sitto_, please…" before trailing off a stream of Urdu that he was unable to translate. He placed his hands awkwardly around her back, making tiny circular motions as he went. "Kainat, what is wrong?"

Kai pulled back from him, the skin between her eyebrows furrowed in her frown and her sad grey eyes rimmed with red. _Really? _"Sherlock, my _sitto_, my grandmother… She's…she died." She watched as Sherlock processed her words and raised an eyebrow. "Everyone dies, Kainat," he said. "Death is a natural part of life and everyone dies eventually. I don't understand why there needs to be so much sentiment."

Kai stared at him for a good ten seconds with as neutral an expression on her face as she could manage. Her mind was plagued with a whirlwind of emotions that she couldn't control. She felt a deep wake of grief in the very depth of her soul, for her _sitto_, her precious grandmother. The depth of the sadness she felt made her heart ache and her bones melt. And now… oh now she felt a glorious upwelling of unmitigated fury. Fury that was directed—primarily—at Sherlock bloody Holmes and his robotic detachment to human emotion. She stepped away from him, and he allowed his arms to fall back to his sides, looking ten times more comfortable. He tried to look her in the eye, but instead she channeled all of her rage and grief into her left hand. She drew back her arm and slapped her best friend as hard as she could right across his stupid chiseled cheekbones.

It hurt. For both of them. The smack was absolutely resounding.

Sherlock gasped in pain and surprise. He could already feel the welts left by her lean musician's hands rising on his cheek. Tears sprang to the rims of his eyes, completely unbidden, but they were there nonetheless. Kai was shaking her hand in pain and crying again as well. She was shouting too. Oh this was definitely not good.

"THE NEED FOR SENTIMENT? You don't understand the need… Sherlock bloody Holmes, you are the daftest and most irritating person on the face of the planet! My grandmother has just died! She raised me, Sherlock, you know that! And you don't understand the need for sentiment. You are such… A MACHINE!" With that, she tore off her messenger bag, threw it at his feet, and ran off back to the dormitories as fast as her long legs would carry her. Bronwyn, who had been witnessing this entire scene, threw a confused but withering glance at Sherlock before taking off after Kai.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times after the girls had departed in order to keep his own tears from spilling over. His cheek stung ferociously. Something in the back of his mind nagged at him to find some ice to put on it, but he ignored that nagging. Obviously he had upset Kai, his… his friend, his _a chara. _The bruise from her hand would serve as a reminder to him that he mustn't upset his friends like that. _Friend_, he corrected. _I've just got the one_. As that thought crossed his mind, it was chased by a thought that was significantly darker. _What if she doesn't want to be my friend anymore?_ Sherlock's heart twanged nervously. Kai had improved the quality of his life significantly, and he couldn't bear to let the thought of losing her take up residence in his mind. _I've got to…what is that phrase… make it up to her_.

But how? Sherlock had never had friends. Mycroft was away on the Continent and out of touch for the next three weeks. That left one person. She may not believe in sentiment, but surely she would know what to do. And with that thought, Sherlock Holmes took out his mobile and called his Mummy.

Kai was curled on her bed and staring into the room she shared with Bronwyn, but seeing nothing. Bronwyn had come in about thirty seconds after she had stormed into the room and flung herself on her bed. The poor girl had held on to Kai as she wept and wept, rubbing her back and brushing her hair with soft fingers. Kai had asked sweet Bronwyn for some time alone, and the wonderful girl had given it to her, leaving the room so that Kai would have some time and meditative silence. Kai had been hoping that she would be able to sleep off the horridly fresh effects of the grief and anger, but instead she found herself lying in the fetal position in her lounge pants, clinging to a picture of her and her _sitto_.

There was a soft knock at the door. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before saying, "Come in, Bronwyn." Kai listened to Bronwyn's soft steps as she entered the room and shut the door quietly behind her. "Thanks for giving me some space this afternoon, Bronwyn. I really appreciate it."

Kai was shocked when she heard someone—a very male someone—clear their throat. She bolted up and saw Sherlock standing by the door, holding a covered dish and looking very much like a beaten dog, her messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Even in the pale afternoon light, Kai could see the angry red handprint on his cheek, for which she only felt a slight pang of guilt. She struggled between feeling relieved to see him and revolted at seeing him. Finally, she resolved to just go with exhaustion.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" Her voice was raw and tired. She wasn't even going to ask how he got into the girl's dormitory. Frankly, she didn't rightly care at the moment. She was terribly upset at her friend's utter lack of tact and caring in this situation. Normally, Kai was able to shrug off his brusqueness and saw it as an opportunity to teach him otherwise, but this…there was no excuse for this. Nothing to teach.

Sherlock looked very uncomfortable as he walked closer to Kai and very hesitantly sat down in her desk chair. When she didn't slap him or order him out, he scooted it closer to her bed so that he was closer to her face and those terribly grey eyes. Her eyes looked like a raging hurricane. Sherlock swallowed past the knot in his throat and said, very quietly,

"I'm very sorry, _a chara_. I did not mean to offend you or your _sitto_. There are just some things I do not know. I hope you will forgive me."

Kai blinked in confusion a couple of times while staring at Sherlock's face in the fading afternoon light. She may not be a great observer like he was, but she could read his face like one of Whitman's poems. She read the pain he was feeling from the mark she left on his cheek—it would definitely bruise. She read the confusion he felt from honestly not knowing what to do. She read the regret from having wronged someone. And she thought she even read…was that fear in those eyes, the eyes that were now a very pretty shade of green? Oh yes… fear of losing a friend. The fear that maybe she would turn away from him now and never give him a chance at recovering their friendship. It was because of that small trace of fear that he was valiantly trying to hide that she made her next move.

She took the plate from his hands and placed it on the desk next to him. He followed her actions with his eyes, watching as she stood from the bed and regarded him for a moment, looking down upon him for a change. Then, without further ado, she crawled into his lap, twisting her body like a pretzel to fit in the smallish space with him. She felt rather than heard his breath hitch, but he didn't move or say anything. She had wrapped her arms around his thin chest and snuggled her face into the intersection of his shoulders and neck. He still smelled like the grass and the sweet air from the excursion outside, as well as a hint of something…spicy. She let herself relax a little as he placed his arms around her, one over her shoulders and one under her knees. She hummed quietly when she felt him place a gentle kiss into her ebony curls. It wasn't threatening or weird… just comforting.

They stayed like this for a while. When tears began spilling from Kai's cheeks again, Sherlock said nothing but instead dutifully brought his own calloused thumbs around, wiping them off gently and whispering in her ear. When he whispered, "Tell me about her," she obliged and she spent thirty minutes sharing her favorite memories with him. In the end, she had them both in a violent fit of giggles as she recounted a story concerning the local rabbi, an escaped piglet, and two bottles of castor oil.

Wiping tears of laughter off her face, Kai decided to straighten herself and climbed off of Sherlock's legs. She picked up the covered dish he had brought with him. She lifted off the lid and stared at what was underneath. It was a single piece of pumpkin pie, topped with what had probably once been whipping cream, but was now just kind of a sad puddle of whitish liquid.

She stared at him. It was her favorite dessert, and her _sitto_ had always made her pumpkin pies when she was feeling upset or needed something to cheer her up. The spicy scent of the pie mix—so that's what Sherlock had smelled of—was tantalizing and she threw a small smile at the picture on the bed. "Sherlock…how did you know?"

"You told me once," he answered simply. "And the cook currently on duty in the kitchen owes me a favor, so I had one made especially for you."

Kai leaned down and kissed Sherlock's forehead and then his nose and both cheeks. It really was a touching gesture. "Sherlock?" she asked. "Will you come to her funeral with me?" When all she got was raised eyebrows in return, she explained, "Not as anything other than my _a chara_. My best friend. Please. I would love for you to be there with me. I have no other family." Sherlock gave her a smile that was both happy and sad at the same time. He nodded in agreement.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a small smile. "I suppose I should eat this now," she said, gesturing at the pie on the plate. He tilted his head in a 'go-ahead' gesture, but he was totally not prepared for what she did next. She took the piece of pie off the plate, set the plate down on the bed, and then smooshed the pie into his face. His mouth dropped open in pure shock as pumpkin pie began to ooze gently down his face. The rich, spicy smell was almost overwhelming. He cleared away his eyes and shot a glare up at her. She responded by licking a little of the pie off his nose and then dashing out of the room as fast as her legs would take her. Sherlock was right on her heels, shouting her name and swiping pie goo off his face as he went.


	7. Chapter Seven: Experimentation

Chapter Seven: Experimentation

**Flash forward five years. Sherlock and Kai are both in London studying at Uni. Warning: light fluff in the form of women kissing. If it's not your thing, turn the other cheek, please. **

Kai slumped heavily into the cane-backed chair in front of the makeup table and stared at her own face in the brightly lit mirror. Progressing into adulthood had given Kai's face a gentle androgyny, a fact that made her drama professor damn near clap his hands and giggle with glee. With the right amount of makeup and her knack for voice manipulation, she could be morphed into a multitude of characters. She smiled back at her reflection. She was exhausted, but happily exhausted. The college's performance of Hamlet was being showcased in three days and the cast was in full blown panic mode.

She moved a bag of makeup sponges aside to take out a thick white envelope. There were two comped tickets inside. Kai threw a sad smile at the picture of her grandmother which she had placed lovingly in the corner of her mirror. _One of these would have been for you, sitto. _Instead, she had planned on giving one to Sherlock and then pass off her extra to a random stranger the night of the performance. She always had a great feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment when she was able to do things like that. She pulled out her mobile and sent off a text to Sherlock.

**Sherlock, I have your ticket for Friday's performance. **

She picked up the box of makeup remover wipes and took out a few, scrubbing the stage makeup from her face. Her phone buzzed and she swiped it open.

**Dull. SH**

Kai frowned at her phone and cursed Sherlock Holmes.

**You're dull. You promised me you'd be there. Hamlet! **

**I am not dull. Shakespeare is child's play. SH**

**Shut it. You're going. **

**Kaiiiiii… SH**

**Tough luck, **_**a chara**_**. You promised. **

**Fine. SH**

**I'm bringing your ticket home tonight. **

**Fine. SH**

**Go get milk. **

**Always the damned milk. SH**

**I didn't use it all for an experiment, Sherlock.**

**I needed it to solve a case, Kainat. SH**

**Well now you can finally solve the great mystery of how to use the chip and pin machines. **

**Fine. SH **

She chuckled and shook her head at her phone. How on earth was she friends with the accursed Sherlock Holmes, the terror of London, England, and beyond? Sherlock had—unsurprisingly—made spectacular leaps in his education in the past years. He had honorary doctorates in biochemistry and biology from a few different colleges, published a few theses, and was working on his doctorates in chemistry and sociology now in London. He had also begun to solve mysteries, usually things like thefts or disappearances around campus. He had been badgering the police at New Scotland Yard to let him have access to their cold case files, but they had laughed him out the door. Kai shook her head. _This is my best friend_.

Kai, like most mortals, was still finishing her bachelor's degree in creative writing and theatre. She had published some of her poetry in a few collections with other writers and had found that being on stage brought a whole new passion to her life. Life, overall, was good.

The door of the dressing room opened and Kai glanced in the mirror in time to observe her fellow actress enter the room. She felt her stomach fill with butterflies as Clara walked into the room and sat down beside her. Clara was also a theatre major and Kai had been entranced with her from the first day she had seen her. Clara's dark red hair, electric blue eyes, and shimmering personality had some kind of magnetic hold on Kai and every time she was around the young actress, she felt herself being pulled in closer and closer.

"Hey, Kai," Clara said as she slumped in her chair as well. The weeks of long rehearsals and set work had taken their toll on Clara too. She had put in extra work doing repairs on their set pieces, painting, fixing lighting, and organizing PR for the show. This was her life and it had been for many years. The work was exhausting but Clara wouldn't have traded it for anything. Plus, she got to see Kai every day since Kai had been volunteering to do some of that work as well.

"Hi, Clara. Listen, sorry about that scene today. There's just something about that line that I cannot remember for the life of me. I'll get it, I promise." Kai had stumbled hard over her lines today. She claimed it was just a fluke, but really, she had been so distracted by the new costume that they'd put on Clara that she totally forgot she had lines.

Clara smiled. "Kai, you've never done that before and you're too good of an actress to let it happen again. We're just tired. We've been going at it for months and the exhaustion is starting to take its toll. This morning I tried to put the milk in the cupboard with the bowls before I realized what I was doing."

Kai burst out laughing. "Really?! Oh gods, Clara, that's hilarious!"

"That's probably nothing compared to what you find in your cupboards," Clara hinted. Kai rolled her eyes. She and Sherlock had been sharing a teeny flat for a few years and the nutter was always leaving body parts and mold cultures about the place. At first Kai had been incensed and thoroughly disgusted, but she had long since given up the fight, merely asking Sherlock to keep the human parts away from the human food. "I found a bag of toes in the crisper last week," she said.

Clara mimicked gagging. "You're a braver woman than I, Kai O' Meara. I don't know how you do it."

"Sometimes I'm not sure either, Clara," Kai responded. "But since I've got no family and no significant other in London, Sherlock's all I've got."

At this, Clara flashed a look at Kai that made her swallow thickly and stirred up the butterflies again. She held her breath as Clara reached across the small space and took Kai's hand in her own. Clara squeezed the thin hand gently, saying, "Well… I can always see what I can do about that."

Kai's heart contracted in her chest and she momentarily forgot how to breathe as Clara stood and then bent her red head towards Kai's. Clara stopped just an aching inch from Kai's lips and whispered, "I've been waiting for so long to do this." Then, Kai's mind exploded with sensation and pleasure as Clara's soft pink lips met her own. Kai reached a hand up into Clara's soft hair, holding her to her face. Clara smiled into the kiss and put her left hand into Kai's own dark curls.

And in the centers of Kai's and Clara's minds… fireworks began to explode with joyous color.


	8. Chapter Eight: Experimentation 2

Chapter Eight: Experimentation x2

**Warning: drug use and some more extravagant swearing**

Sherlock's mind was a vibrating mess of activity, sounds, and colors. Thoughts flew back and forth and to and fro faster than bullet trains and oh…it was so loud. There was so much talking in his mind and there was nothing to calm it down. Why was everything around him so dull? He needed distraction, something to take his mind off the noise. He had nothing interesting to do. He had finished all of the experiments he had been working on (the toes had already been discarded), his research for his latest paper was all complete, and for once, he knew the violin sitting patiently in its corner would not soothe the wild beast in his mind. He flopped down on the couch. Then he stood back up and paced around the room. He stalked to the window and looked outside at the empty street. _BORED_! Was there nothing to distract him from the noise, oh that loud hissing noise like the white static from the telly?

_Wait_…

Sherlock glanced around the flat and then at the clock on the mantle. Kai wouldn't be home for at least another two hours, based on the rehearsal schedule she'd been adhering to this week. That gave him plenty of time. He stood and stalked back the hallway to his bedroom. He opened the top drawer of his bureau and removed a slim walnut box from under his socks. Opening the case, he looked at the dainty syringe and the small bottle of clear liquid almost lovingly.

He laid the box on his bed and went over to close his door. He opened the window to let the cool night air from London enter and then he sat on the bed. Sherlock rolled up the sleeve of his dressing gown and retrieved the syringe. The morphine always made it better, even if it was temporary. It drowned out the voices and made things slow down. He plunged the syringe into the bottle and extracted the wonderful drug. After adjusting the needle so that he wouldn't get any air bubbles into his blood, he stowed the liquid back in the case. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Before he could change his mind, he picked a vein and slid the delicate needle inside, depressing the plunger and shooting the cold liquid into his bloodstream.

Sherlock Holmes felt the syringe fall to his side as he collapsed backwards on his bed, his mind and body suddenly overcome with a new sensation and a mellow yellow light.

00000000000000000000000000

Kai bounded up the steps to her flat with a ridiculous grin on her face and a new song in her heart. She knew that Sherlock would be able to deduce her to shreds and tell her exactly what she had been doing to earn that grin, but at the moment, Kai didn't give a flying fuck about Sherlock Holmes. Instead, she was content to replay her kiss with Clara over and over just to feel those warm sensations all over again. To top it all off, she was early coming home from rehearsal and she thought about celebrating with a hot bath and a glass of wine.

She unlocked the door and came into the darkened living space. _Hmm, Sherlock must be out?_ It wasn't unusual for Sherlock to be out and about doing Sherlock-y things, but he had said he planned on being home tonight. There was apparently something concerning those toes she found last week that needed doing tonight. She shuddered and removed her jacket and scarf. _Oh_. Sherlock's ridiculously long coat was hanging from the peg beside hers and his shoes were sitting underneath. Okay, so he was home. But where was he? Gods knew that Sherlock Holmes never slept until he physically collapsed from exhaustion. However, seeing as how he wasn't in the kitchen, the living room, or the loo…

_Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_. The Holmesian utterance crossed her mind and she snorted under her breath. Sherlock was always spouting off things like that. And they said she was the poet…

Kai tiptoed to the back bedroom. The door was closed, but she could see that it wasn't locked. She stood there for a moment, contemplating her options. Normally, she would never presume to barge in to her friend's bedroom, especially considering that he was her male friend. But there was just something so unusual about the situation that there was an uncomfortable nugget of apprehension tickling the back of Kai's brain. Her grandmother had always taught her to trust her instincts—better to be safe than sorry, the older woman had always heckled—and Kai's instincts were making her wriggle nervously. With that, she turned the knob and entered Sherlock's room.

What she found there made her scream with grief and horror.

Sherlock was lying on his floor, spread-eagled and unconscious. His skin held a deathly pallor in the low lamplight and there appeared to be a puddle of vomit next to the bed. She ran forward and heard something crunch under her shoes. She picked up her foot and stared at the thing underneath.

It was a syringe. A glass syringe. What was left of one anyway.

_God, no_. "No no no, Sherlock, you don't get to do this to me! Sherlock! Sherlock, you utter bastard, what the fuck have you done?!" Kai stepped around the glass and threw herself at Sherlock's side, putting her hands on his face, his throat, and his chest. She placed two fingers at his carotid artery. She panicked for a moment when she didn't feel anything, but then the slow _lub-lub_ of his heartbeat skittered under her fingertips. She put another hand on his chest, waiting for the rise and fall of his breath to lift her hand up. It was slow, but it was there.

She pulled out her mobile and called an ambulance. While she waited, she couldn't stop the tendrils of fear, terror, and anger rise up and clutch at her heart. These feelings didn't get to take root, because at that exact moment, Sherlock's eyes sprang open. He heaved a deep, gasping breath and shot straight up in the air. Kai screamed, but he didn't hear as he crashed back down to the floor, passing out once more. Kai jammed a finger into the artery at his neck.

Nothing. The artery on his wrist. Nothing. Back to the neck. Still nothing. Fuck. His chest didn't rise anymore. _Fuck_! Kai's vision went white as she panicked.

When the medics flew into the bedroom, they found Kai kneeling over her best friend, compressing his chest and blowing air into his lungs for him, tears streaming down her face and wild curses flying from her tongue. One of the medics wrestled her off of Sherlock as two others took over for her. Finally…finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard the female medic say, "I've got a pulse! Weak but it's there." Kai collapsed into the arms of the medic who had pulled her away.

The medics bundled Sherlock onto a board and hustled him down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. Kai climbed in the back with him, holding his thin, white hand and no one stopped or questioned her. The young woman's eyes were a tempest of grey fury…no one wanted to contest with that.

Kai began to cry silently as the ambulance pulled away. _Sherlock_…

Inside his mind, Sherlock was screaming.


	9. Chapter Nine: Not an Advantage

Chapter Nine: Not an Advantage

**Warning: Some angst…and shouting…and crying…and choking of innocent umbrellas.**

Kai was a patient woman. Exceedingly patient, actually. One had to be in order to live with and be friends with Sherlock Holmes, the git currently lying unconscious on a hospital bed looking all pale and tragic with tubes and wires snaking every which way. However, she was losing her patience as doctors and nurses scurried in and out of the room all day but no one could seem to get Sherlock to wake up. She knew it was irrational…they of course had no control over it… but it didn't do anything to stop Kai's dander from rising.

He had been in the hospital and unconscious for about 5 hours. He was alive and breathing, but that's about all he was feeling up to at the moment. Since Kai was not family, they could not discuss his case with her, but they didn't dare stop her from sitting with him. They had tried once, but they had then been on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing in three different languages that would have made Sherlock beam with pride. Curiously, during her tirade, the doctor had received a 28 second phone call and then she had been ushered back into the room without question and hadn't been bothered since. _Mycroft, bless you and your umbrella. _

Even though Kai was not privy to what was going on, she'd heard the whispers from the staff.

Overdose. Unintentional, or so it seemed, but still an overdose. Morphine.

Kai closed her eyes as the night closed in on the hospital room. She was curled in a stiff stuffy chair with leathery upholstery and hard springs that were poking in her back. She had one arm wrapped around her knees and her other hand extended on to Sherlock's bed where it was gripping his hand tightly. She sank into the silence and brooded. _Why would Sherlock do this? What was going on in his life that he felt the need to…shoot up morphine? Was he trying to kill himself? Was he just trying to get high? __**Why haven't I noticed this?**_

Her walls broke as she asked the last question. She uncurled herself from the chair and leaned over to the bed. She pushed her forehead into the mattress, her right hand still clinging to his left and her left arm thrown over his bony knees. She began to cry in earnest, allowing the rough blankets to absorb her shame and her sorrow.In the silence, Kai pleaded with deities she didn't even believe in.

She gasped when she felt delicate fingers thread their way into her curls. She pushed her head up and stared into Sherlock's eyes. They were a little unfocused, but they were open and she didn't want to stop looking at them. He blinked at her a couple of times and wriggled around under the coarse sheets.

"whereami?" he slurred. He clacked his tongue a couple of times in his mouth. It was really dry in there and his tongue felt like a log of firewood.

Kai stood up and leaned over him, pressing her lips to his forehead, his nose, and finally his dry lips before she stepped back and answered him. "You're in the hospital, genius."

This confused Sherlock. "'ospital? Why?"

Kai ran her fingers through his mussed curls. "Sherlock…"

"You overdosed on morphine, dear brother," a gentle yet sardonic voice said, echoing in the room.

Sherlock winced. "Mycroft," he said, lacing the name with as much sarcasm as he could muster. The tall man with the impeccable suit drifted over to the right side of Sherlock's bed, the omnipresent umbrella gripped in his hand. The British Government stared down at his younger brother with his own set of demanding eyes before acknowledging Kai.

"Kainat," Mycroft intoned, bowing his head slightly to her. Kai returned the nod and whispered "Mycroft."

Sherlock was still confused. "Whaddaya mean, overdose? I can… I 'an handle it… not too much." _God, I need some water_.

The tears that had been building up behind Kai's eyes spilled over and she hiccupped quietly as Sherlock spoke. He glanced in her direction with an expression of weariness on his face. She squeezed the hand she still held as Mycroft brought back Sherlock's attention.

"Obviously not, Sherlock. If you could have handled it, as you say, you would not be lying in a hospital bed with tubes and needles shoved into you. If Kai hadn't come home, you would be dead." Kai closed her eyes as more tears spilled over and her heart clenched painfully. "Your arrogance has almost killed you, brother mine." Kai noticed that the hand on Mycroft's umbrella was white with tension.

Sherlock fixed his elder brother with a penetrating gaze. His eyes were clearer and a heartbreaking shade of blue-grey today. "Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft." Sherlock couldn't believe the sentimental rubbish that Mycroft had just spouted. It may not have sounded as such to other mortals, but for the Holmes brothers, it was almost the equivalent of a Shakespearean sonnet.

Mycroft choked his umbrella even tighter and whispered, "Sometimes it's not an option, Sherlock." Before either of the young people in the room could react, his mobile chimed. Mycroft read the message, frowned (a mere crease in the skin between his eyebrows), and then took his leave from Sherlock's bedside. At the door, Mycroft turned and addressed them both.  
"Sherlock, Kai, if you will please excuse me. I am needed elsewhere." And with that, the minor official in the British Government left.

Sherlock watched him go before muttering, "Git," under his breath. Kai cuffed him gently on the shoulder. He glanced down at their entwined fingers and then up at her face. "Kai," he said, "can I please have some water?" His mouth and throat felt scratchy and terribly dry.

Kai fetched the little paper cup with a green straw that the nurse had left on her last round. She filled it with water from the pitcher on the table by the bedside. She held the cup in front of him, nudging the straw to his lips for him. He drank a few small sips before thumping back against the pillows.

"Thank you," he murmured. Kai nodded and sat down in her chair again. She picked up his hand again, using her thumb to brush little circles on his fingers. He looked like he was settling down to go back to sleep—gods knew he could use the rest—but Kai wasn't quite finished with him.

"Sherlock?" she queried, pressing down a little harder with her thumb. "Sherlock stay with me, sweetheart. We have to talk about this."

"There's nothing that needs to be talked about," he shot back.

"Yes there is, you great lump. You died on me, Sherlock. You were dead; we had to beat the life back into you. I had to breathe for you and…"

Kai cut off as a tight knot cut off the air to her lungs and a dry sob wracked her slim frame. She felt his hand tighten on hers, but when she looked up at him, he was staring up at the ceiling. She took a shaky breath, inhaling as much oxygen as she could. "Why'd you do it, Sherlock? Why did you feel that it was necessary to… inject morphine—bloody morphine, Sherlock? Are you upset about something?"

Sherlock deadpanned. "No, I am not upset. I am perfectly fine, Kainat."

"Sure you are. Lots of well-adjusted people shoot up morphine and then collapse in a pile of their own vomit and their flat-mates have to bring them back to life."

"There's nothing wrong with me, Kai."

"SHERLOCK!" she yelled. He winced at the loud noise and she shook her head. She rubbed his hand and forearm and apologized for yelling. "But Sherlock, you must tell me what's going on inside that funny little head of yours. Because I don't know… and I already feel guilty enough. Please tell me what you need and why you felt morphine was the answer."

Sherlock frowned at her. "This is not your fault, Kainat. What would possess you to believe that? It's highly illogical."

"Thank you, Spock."

"You know what I mean, Kai. I didn't do this because of you or…in spite of you."

Kai sighed and stared at their hands. "Then why, Sherlock?"

Sherlock wriggled. "It's none of your concern."

"But it is, Sherlock."

"No it isn't! There is absolutely nothing for you to be concerned about! Why can't you see that?!"

"Sherlock." He looked up when he heard something new creep into Kai's voice. It was softer and filled with a quiet, tender insistence. Sherlock read the raw honesty in her open, androgynous face. "You are my best friend. My platonic soul mate. I lost you for a minute, Sherlock. You died. And I suddenly had to think about what my life was going to mean without you in it. So trust me when I say that your well-being is definitely my concern."

Sherlock tried to fight it. He slammed every extra molecule of energy into preventing reality from slipping out between his lips. But exactly as he had done five years ago upon first meeting Kai O'Meara, the truth came spilling from his lips as if it was a sentient thing. He also felt the tears begin to well up, also unbidden.

"It's so loud sometimes, Kai." Sherlock's voice was usually a beautiful, confident baritone—like a jaguar hiding in her cello—but now it was soft and small and tired. "I needed a distraction. My mind is like a beast that's always hungry, Kai. If I don't feed it…if I don't give it new data or new distractions…it gets very ferocious. There's always something happening. It gets so loud sometimes. The morphine slows it down. Makes it quiet. I'm so sorry, Kai, I didn't want you to see. I'm so so sorry."

Kai watched as a single silver tear slid down his face. For Sherlock Holmes, that was a startling sight. She watched his face as the internal struggle to gain control over his own emotions raged inside him. She had never been able to deduce things like him, but all these years later and she could still read his face like a poem. Her _a chara_ was in so much pain. She saw the guilt and the pain and the anger and the frustration all chiseled into his face like a Greek tragedy. She stood up and pushed his lanky body to the side.

"Budge over then, Sherlock." He did, and for the second time in her life, Kai snuggled up to Sherlock Holmes. Only this time, she was the rock and he the drowning sailor. She put her right arm around his shoulders and he sank his curly head into her collarbone and neck. He held on to her left hand and for the second time in five years, surrendered to Kai O'Meara as he let the tears fall silently into her shoulder. She held him all night and into the next morning.


	10. Chapter Ten: Skulls, DIs, and Deductions

Chapter Ten: Skulls, DIs, and Deductions

Sherlock was released from the hospital the following afternoon. Not one person mentioned anything about rehabilitation or psychiatrists or counseling and for that Kai was glad but also suspicious. She walked with Sherlock to the waiting cab on the street. They crawled inside and Kai gave the cabbie their address. Sherlock sprawled on the seat and contented himself with staring out the window as London passed by. He let the scenery blur as he began to catalogue the data from the past eighteen hours—even Mycroft's little sentimental outburst.

Kai's voice interrupted his contemplations. "Sherlock, you do realize that we're going to have to do something about this, right?"

"I fail to see why that would be necessary, Kai," he huffed, not turning away from the window.

"Shocking. But just because Mycroft managed to weasel you out of the hospital without having to talk to anyone about it doesn't mean you're getting away with it."

"Having a minor official in the British government for a brother can sometimes be useful, even if he is an insufferable git."

"I'm sure he'd faint to hear such praise," Kai mocked. "But honestly, Sherlock, you should talk to someone. We'll find you someone…a counselor or..."

"I will not see anyone." Sherlock had finally faced Kai. The sheer amount of venom that laced his words was almost physically toxic. His eyes were alight with steel grey fire as he stared down Kai. There was a faint twitch in the muscle under his left eye.

Kai bowed her head and said, "Okay, Sherlock." She turned her head to stare out the smudgy window and avoid his burning glare. The next words she heard him utter were so quiet that she almost missed them.

"They'd section me so fast your head would spin." Kai started and looked at him. The fire was not gone from his eyes, but there was a subtle sadness that tendered the flames of his gaze. And deep in her soul, Kai knew he was telling the truth. Her Sherlock, with his marvelous brain and his social ineptitude… everything that made Sherlock Sherlock would have also made a fantastic resume for a mental patient in a ward. The thought made her wince. And then for a reason that was completely unclear to Kai, an image of sixteen year old Sherlock with pumpkin pie smashed on his face rose to the surface of her mind. She snorted with laughter, belatedly trying to cover it up as a cough. Sherlock glared at her.

"Do you find my potential mental instability amusing, Kainat?" he asked.

"Please," she said. "You've been a psychopath since the first day I met you and I wouldn't have it any other way." She gave him a sunny smile, hoping to lighten the somber mood.

"Sociopath, Kai, do your research." Though his words were sarcastic, Sherlock's face bloomed into a smile.

The cabbie pulled up to their flat. Kai thanked him and paid him while Sherlock walked up to the front door. She joined him and they both went upstairs to their flat. They opened the door to find the British Government sitting on their sofa, umbrella propped in the corner and one of Kai's books of poetry open on his lap. Sherlock groaned. Kai cuffed him on the shoulder, but raised her eyebrows inquisitively at Mycroft nonetheless.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. He was in no mood for this.

"Just because I let you walk out of the hospital without seeing a psychiatrist or talking about addiction therapy doesn't mean you get to walk away from this, Sherlock." Mycroft raised his eyebrow ever so slightly when Kai snorted and walked to the kitchen. The brothers heard the snap of the oven knob as she put the kettle on for tea.

Sherlock threw himself angrily in his chair. "Mycroft, I will not see anyone nor do anything. I don't have a problem."

"I believe the evidence points to the contrary, Sherlock."

"I just needed the distraction for a moment. I don't have a problem and I don't intend to argue with you about this." Sherlock crossed his arms and fairly pouted at his brother.

The elder Holmes' lips twitched slightly. "That is good, brother mine, because you would not have won."

Sherlock sighed haughtily. Then he glared up at his older brother and stated softly, "I can't go to rehab, Mycroft. I won't."

"Then it is a wondrous thing that I never intended to send you." With that, Mycroft pulled out his mobile and sent a quick text. Sherlock's eyebrows did a funny little dance as they crawled about in surprise, anger, and confusion. Before he could say anything, though, there came the sound of footsteps on their staircase.

Sherlock twisted round in his seat and Kai appeared from the kitchen with tea as a tall man with silvery hair, a light tan, and a warm, open face entered their flat with a fairly sizeable box. He sat the box on the ground near Sherlock's chair and straightened, the corner of his lips quirking up into a grin.

"Sherlock, Kai, please allow me to introduce to you Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade." Mycroft nodded to the man, who stepped forward to shake Kai's hand and then Sherlock's. "Detective Inspector Lestrade has agreed to help us with…your little problem of needing distraction, Sherlock." Sherlock raised a querulous eyebrow before throwing an inquiring glance at the man.

The detective inspector spoke. "Mr. Holmes…"

"Sherlock, please," Sherlock interrupted. "He is Mr. Holmes," indicating his elder brother.

"Sherlock," Lestrade continued. "Mr. Holmes has told me about your…abilities and your knack for seeing things that others don't see. I understand you've solved a couple of minor incidences around campus?"

"He has," Kai spoke up. "Just last week he figured out that the new administrative assistant in the college of humanities had been stealing the petty cash from the office."

"Oh?" Lestrade queried. "And how did you figure that out? A friend of mine at the Yard was looking into that."

"Simple, really," Sherlock sighed. "She smoked Pall Malls."

Lestrade raised his shoulder in question. "So does half the bloody planet."

Sherlock sat upright in his chair. Kai leaned against the wall with a smile on her face. She always loved watching people's first reactions to Sherlock's incredible abilities.

"I am familiar with 243 types of cigarette and cigar ashes and I would recognize any of them based on their texture, fluffiness, color, smell, and flavor. When I examined the office in which the money had been taken, I noticed that there was a tiny gathering of ash on the table. I recognized it as cigarette ash, but it had obviously been brushed off on someone's clothes while they had been smoking since smoking is prohibited indoors. That ash was then transferred to the table when the thief was transferring the money out of the safe. After inquiring with all of the office staff as to their smoking habits, it was all really quite elementary from there."

There was a span of silence in the room as Lestrade stared at Sherlock. Kai could tell that he was doing everything in his power to keep his jaw from dropping. The moment broke when Lestrade shook his head and muttered, "Bloody brilliant…" Sherlock's cheeks glowed a light pink before he turned to look at Kai. She gave him her biggest and brightest grin and winked. His facial muscles didn't react, but Kai noted that his eyes shifted to a bright blue-green, indicating his happiness.

"Right," Lestrade continued. "Well, that's good enough for me. Here's the deal, Sherlock. Mycroft has explained your need for…distraction, whatever that means. Since you just got back from the hospital after almost overdosing on morphine, I can't really do anything for you except to give you these." He indicated the box by Sherlock's chair. "Those are some of the cold case files we've accumulated in the past year or so. It's nothing very major—some thefts, disappearances, burglary, and a few deaths that were ruled accidental. I figured that if you are as good as Mycroft says you are, it couldn't hurt to let you examine the files. If it gets me answers…" Lestrade let his thought trail off. "Well, it ought to keep you busy and away from the drugs, anyway."

Inside his mind, Sherlock was reeling with excitement. It took every ounce of his control not to run around the flat like a maniac. Instead, he grinned slowly and reached down to the box beside him. He flipped off the lid and slid a file out at random. He opened it and began to read. Only Sherlock Holmes could make reading look like he was devouring a meal. Lestrade turned to Mycroft and was speaking quietly when Sherlock threw the file down on the coffee table. Everyone turned.

"He's hiding in Jamaica." Sherlock picked up another file. Lestrade spluttered and walked over to pick up the report.

"Sherlock, how can he be in Jamaica? We fished a burned skeleton wearing his clothing out of the charred remains of his house."

"You pulled _a_ burned skeleton out of the house, but not his," Sherlock said dismissively. "The report said that Mr… Woodruff had broken his arm as a child. There is a corresponding healing pattern from a break on this skeleton's arm, yes, but it was a comminuted fracture. The bone was essentially crushed and then put back together. Mr. Woodruff's fracture was just a greenstick fracture. The bone only cracked on one side, different healing pattern altogether. The body you found was not Mr. Woodruff's."

"But… Jamaica?" Lestrade asked. His mouth really was hanging open in shock now. The bloody man had had the file for all of 60 seconds!

Sherlock gave him a smug smile. "Isn't it obvious?"

Lestrade was saved from answering by another set of footsteps on the stair. Everyone looked round as Clara came bounding in with a bag in her hand. She stopped short when she noticed the increased male presence in the room, but she smiled broadly and waved.

"Hello everyone." Clara walked over to Kai and kissed her lips. Mycroft and Lestrade looked away pointedly. Sherlock was already engrossed in another file. Kai introduced Clara to everyone and then Mycroft and Lestrade took their leave, Lestrade gripping the file in his hands while muttering, "60 bloody seconds…"

Kai chuckled and slipped her arm around Clara's waist, burying her face in the woman's soft red hair. "What brings you around, Clara? I figured you'd be at the theatre causing a ruckus since we open in two days."

"I could say the same for you, Kai O'Meara," Clara responded, kissing the taller woman's nose. "When I got your text about Sherlock, I had to come round and check on you. Besides, I brought Sherlock a present!"

Clara picked up the bag she had brought with her and went over to Sherlock's chair. He was leaned over another file—the fourth—and there was a notebook in his lap. He was making notations and wasn't aware of the two women moving about. In fact, he wasn't aware of anything really until he felt Kai's hand smack the back of his head.

"What?" he snapped. He looked up to see a pretty redheaded woman kneeling in front of his chair. _Early 20s, actress, vegetarian, non-smoker, one cat_. Sherlock looked back at her and blinked his eyes, unaware of what he was supposed to do. Kai's voice filtered down to his ears.

"Sherlock, you remember Clara. She's in theatre with me and…and she's my girlfriend." Clara beamed up at Kai before turning back to Sherlock. She handed Sherlock the small bag.

"I thought this would cheer you up, Sherlock," Clara said. Sherlock inclined his head towards her while murmuring, "Thank you." He opened the bag, looked inside, and then tossed a questioning but mischievous grin up at Clara. Sherlock pulled a human skull out of the bag and held it up to the light, turning it this way and that.

Kai blinked a few times. "Clara, did you steal a skull from the anthropology department?"

Clara laughed. "Of course not! We had to make that skull for the show so I just took the cast and made Sherlock another one. I did have Martin paint it up and soak it in mud and all that. Just to give it that authentic vibe." She grinned at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled back and went to place the skull on the mantle.

Kai named it John.


	11. Chapter Eleven: How Silly of Me

Chapter Eleven: How Silly of Me

**Flashing forward again, four years. Kai is an actress between jobs and Sherlock is a consultant for New Scotland Yard. **

Kai walked over to her desk, fetching the monologue she was preparing for her audition. Her toothbrush hung out of her mouth and she hadn't bothered to change out of her dressing gown yet. She went back to the loo to finish brushing her teeth while she went over the words again. There were times that she was envious of the Holmes' eidetic memories.

She smiled as she thought of Sherlock. They hadn't lived together for about two years. Kai had moved in with Clara for about a year, but after they split up, Kai decided to get her own flat. Sherlock had been anxious at first, choosing to believe that Kai had tired of him and was moving on. Kai reassured him that she wasn't moving on from him, but that she just wanted some space and refrigerator shelves not full of body parts. So, they had found adjoining flats on Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson, the charming landlady, had cut them both a deal on the rent since Sherlock had helped her deal with her…domestic problems and Kai helped Mrs. Hudson deal with…the Sherlock problems. (Mrs. Hudson had almost had a heart attack the first time Sherlock blew up the microwave during an experiment.) Kai had taken lodgings in the smaller flat, 221 C, claiming that Sherlock could use the extra space in 221 B for his experiments and lab equipment and his bookshelves. Sometimes at night, Kai could just hear the plaintive violin strains coming from the apartment above. Sometimes, she would dig out her own cello and accompany him. He never mentioned it.

She had dressed and was preparing to leave for her audition when her phone buzzed with a message alert. She clicked it open and read.

**Could use your assistance with a case. SH**

This was not unusual. Sherlock was always trying to drag her along to crime scenes now that he was allowed to operate as a consultant with NSY. She had politely declined after the first one she went to contained a bloated, mutilated corpse and she lost her lunch all over the forensic specialist's shoes. She had been embarrassed, but Sherlock had fairly crowed with laughter. The specialist—Anderson, was it?—had cursed her and Sherlock off the scene.

**No, Sherlock. I don't do so well with the bodies remember?**

**No bodies. SH**

**Right. **

**Promise. SH**

**Irrelevant anyway. Got an audition in ½ hour. **

**I'll pick you up after. It can wait. SH**

**Sherlock…**

**Please? SH**

Kai almost dropped her phone. A please from Sherlock Holmes? The world must be coming to an end.

**Fine. You know where to find me. Pick me up in 45 min. **

**Thank you, **_**a chara**_**. SH**

Kai smiled and put her phone away. She hadn't seen Sherlock in over a week. And if there weren't any bodies involved, perhaps spending a little time with Sherlock and watching him in action was just what she needed.

00000000000000000000000000000000000

45 minutes later, Kai emerged from the theatre to find Sherlock Holmes standing near a cab. He was wearing a dark suit as usual with his favorite dark purple shirt. Kai chuckled. That shirt gave everyone around him mini-strokes and he never seemed to notice. Kai was his best friend and a lesbian and that shirt made her brain short out for a second before she pulled herself together. The long, dark, and perpetual Belstaff coat was on but open. He opened the door to the cab and stepped inside when he saw her and she climbed in after him. He gave the cabbie and address not too far from Baker Street and they drove off.

"Good afternoon, Kainat," Sherlock said. He gave her a wan half-smile.

"Afternoon, Sherlock," she responded. Sherlock seemed paler than usual and the dark circles smudged under his eyes stood out in relief. "When was the last time you slept? Or ate anything?"

"Transport," he muttered. "I'm on a case, I don't eat when I'm on a case."

"Oh yeah? Well you might want to consider getting some food and some sleep, otherwise the next case you attend to is going to be your coffin."

He snorted disdainfully. "Thank you, Mother."

She shook her head. When this was over, she would make him some food and get him to lie down for a bit, even if she had to drug his food. "So where are we going Sherlock? And what are we doing?"

The cab pulled up alongside a restaurant, the name 'Angelo's' printed on a tasteful sign just over the door. Sherlock bolted out, leaving Kai to pay the cabbie as usual. She followed him as he stepped up to the door and knocked forcefully. Kai read the note on the glass front.

"Sherlock, they're closed. What are we doing here?"

At that moment, a small, short woman with dark hair appeared in the doorway. Kai heard the lock come undone and the door swung open. The tiny woman's hair was mussed and streaked with grey. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her whole face appeared to be slightly swollen from crying. Her hands were wringing nervously around a handkerchief. She looked warily up at Sherlock and then over to Kai. She looked back again, going between their faces. Kai smiled a little. She and Sherlock still shared an uncanny likeness.

"What you want?" the little woman asked, her natural Italian accent singing in Kai's ears.

"Sono Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock replied. He went on (in perfect Italian, of course) to explain his presence, but Kai unfortunately had forgotten all the Italian she learned except for the music terms. Whatever he said, however, appeared to have a great effect on the woman. Her eyes lit up and she started rambling in Italian, pressing the handkerchief to her face and beginning to cry all over again.

At this, Kai stepped forward and took over. She gripped the small woman's shoulders and turned her bodily and moved her back inside. She escorted the woman through the restaurant towards what appeared to be the kitchen. Once inside, she sat the woman down in a chair, all the while making soothing sounds. Kai looked around the kitchen. Sherlock had disappeared. _Strange_. She pushed Sherlock out of her mind momentarily and busied herself with the kettle on the stove. When things go to hell in England, put the kettle on. She found the tea in a cute little pot by the stove and made a cup for the grieving woman.

"Th-thank y-you," the woman stuttered when Kai handed her the cup.

"Can I ask you what's wrong, my lady?" Kai sat down in a chair opposite.

"My husband… he… the police come, they say he kill a man. My Angelo, he never could kill anyone! But they take him away… I not see him for three days. My Angelo, he would never kill anyone."

"And he didn't," Sherlock's velvety baritone echoed in the small kitchen. Both women swung around to watch the pale man stalk over to them, his hands behind his back. "Angelo didn't kill anyone."

The small Italian woman burst into tears again, but this time she had a smile on her face. She stood up and ran over to Sherlock, hugging the lanky man. Sherlock patted her back awkwardly before she pushed away.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Will…will you bring my Angelo back?"

"As soon as possible," Sherlock intoned. He nodded at her and left the kitchen abruptly. Kai murmured her thanks before following him out.

"Sherlock, how do you know that Angelo didn't kill anyone? And why did you need me there with you?" They were back in a cab, this time headed to a new address that was unfamiliar to Kai. The sun had set over London and the interior of the cab was cast into shades of indigo and navy illuminated only by the yellow streetlamps.

"I couldn't very well search for evidence to prove Angelo's innocence when there was a crying woman around, could I? You helped me very much by taking her off my hands for a bit."

Kai rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that? How silly of me." They sat in silence for a moment before Kai asked, "So where are we going now?"

Sherlock smiled. "To catch the real killer of course."

Kai could only nod her head while quirking her lips up in a defeated smile. "Of course. How silly of me."

The cab dropped them off in front of a row of flats that appeared to be abandoned, for they were dark and empty and quiet. Kai walked behind Sherlock, hoping that the long, flappy coat would somehow shield her from all harm. Suddenly, Sherlock stopped and Kai ran into his back. She felt him reach behind and grasp her wrist with his cold, thin fingers. They didn't move or seemingly breathe. Then, there was a slight sound at the end of the street, a gentle rattling. Kai tried to peek around Sherlock, but his broad back effectively prevented it. Without any warning, he took off like a shot, almost breaking Kai's wrist in the process. She wrenched it out of his grip and ran beside him.

She could see a shadow ahead of them…definitely male and definitely bigger than both of them. They followed the shadow in to the alley, but as they rounded the corner, Sherlock pulled up and tossed his head around. The shadow had disappeared from sight. The flickering streetlight cast a circle of pale yellow light, but it was the only thing standing in the alley besides Sherlock and Kai. Until that is… Kai felt a strong arm wrap around her shoulders and chest. She squealed in surprise as the unknown attacker secured her arms in his tight grip and pressed his free hand to her throat. She whimpered as she felt the cool metal of a knife snug up against her artery.

Sherlock had turned in surprise when he heard Kai call out. Now he watched warily as the thick ginger man grappled with Kai and pressed a lethal looking knife to her throat. He tried to look her right in the eyes, mentally willing her to stay calm.

"Let her go," Sherlock uttered, his voice as deadly and smooth as an oiled bayonet. His heart was leaping out of his chest and his brain whirling at one hundred miles a second, but his face and body betrayed nothing.

"I don' think so," the man said, his voice a grating presence in Kai's ear. "This 'un's too pretty to just let go. I think I'll keep 'er a little bit longer. What you say, love? We could 'ave some fun." Kai tried to dig her elbows into the man's ribs, but he only squeezed tighter, wrenching her arms and hurting her. Sherlock's nails dug into the skin of his palms. Enough.

"Do you think your mother approves of what you do, Wesley?" Sherlock had abandoned the threatening tone for a lighter, mocking one. He placed his hands behind his back and did a little skip closer to the man. "Do you think that she knows that you kill people and threaten innocent women when she serves your supper and changes your sheets?"

Wesley tightened his grip on Kai. Sherlock could see a thin trail of blood leaking down her neck and there was one small tear on her cheek. But her eyes were that shade of grey that damn near sparked with electricity as she stared at him. Wesley growled, "You keep my mum outta this, Holmes, you great busybody. You shut your mouth, or I will shut it for you and her as well." He dug the knife in a little tighter, and a bigger stream of red shot out. Sherlock's pupils dilated with anxiety when he detected a slight movement behind the pair. His mouth pulled into a grin. "Oh really?" he taunted. At that precise moment, Detective Inspector Lestrade darted out and slammed the butt of his revolver into Wesley's temple, knocking the man unconscious instantly.

Kai slipped from his grip and sagged to the ground. Sherlock darted over and picked her upper body off the ground, kneeling and sliding her up to him. He pressed his hands over the nick on her neck and patted her face, trying to get the glazed grey eyes to focus.

"Kai? Kainat, come on, wake up. You're not even hurt that bad, you melodramatic woman." Sherlock's voice shot up a few steps in pitch at the end of his sentence. He had to swallow hard to get past the lump in his throat. Lestrade caught his attention and after looking into Sherlock's eyes, called immediately for the medics.

"Sherlock?" Kai murmured.

"Yes?" Sherlock's voice echoed in her head.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Remind me why I'm here again?"

Sherlock thought a moment before responding, "No bodies…"

Kai stared at the cheeky grin on his face for a split second before they both burst into laughter. Kai murmured, "How silly of me," prompting another chuckle out of Sherlock. He pressed his nose into her dark curls and pressed a kiss to her head as they waited for the medics. Sherlock rode to the hospital with her, biting back a wave of unrelenting emotion as he thought that this was the second time Kai had been in an ambulance because of him. Only now she was the one lying on the stretcher.

And as the ambulance took off down the street, Sherlock felt Kai slip her hand on top of his and press gently. He looked up and into Kai's eyes and what he saw there almost made him drown in his own mind. He saw infinity. How could a person fit a whole galaxy into their visual organs? The look she gave him was neither angry nor forgiving, neither accepting nor denying. It was not furious or sad or...anything. It simply was. And somehow, through the rumbling of the vehicle and the quiet chatter of medics and the beeping of machines, Sherlock Holmes and Kai O'Meara slipped away from thinking and just… existed.

**A/N: Hey! If you've taken the time to read this far, thank you so much. Please, please, please take the time to leave reviews and comments so that I can get some feedback and do some reflection. Your help and guidance is much appreciated! **


	12. Chapter Twelve: Necessity of a Flatmate

Chapter Twelve: The Necessity of a Flatmate

**Flash forward four years. Kai is still working in theatre. She published her own book of poetry and has been out and about promoting a lot as both author and actress. Sherlock is back consulting for the NSY after a brief hiatus after he overdosed a second time. Lestrade found him then. Sherlock was off cases for a year and a half getting his act together—and terrorizing Mrs. Hudson. He's back in an official capacity under Lestrade's watchful eye. **

Sherlock was bored. B-o-r-e-d. _Dear god, is this what it's like inside people's heads all the time? How terribly dull it all is. How do they live like this? Funny little brains, the lot of them. _He flopped onto the couch and tossed and turned, unable to find comfort. The activity inside his brain wasn't destroying his sanity—_ha, sanity_—yet, but he could feel the niggling little itch in the back of his mind like an almost healed bug bite. B-o-r-e-d.

His ears pricked up as he heard footsteps approaching his door. He listened for a moment to the weight and stride. _Kai, then. What could she possibly want?_

Kai came into the room and her long oval face appeared above his. She had her eyebrow quirked up and the expression on her face clearly read; _what are you doing?_ Sherlock crossed his arms over his thin chest before he spoke.

"Bored!" He frowned up at Kai just to let her know that he was not okay with the state of things. She laughed and took a seat in his armchair.

"You are a child," she replied casually. "Have you done your shopping?"

"Dull."

"Have you paid your rent?"

"Dull."

"Sherlock, it's your rent, it needs to be paid. Don't you have a nice liver to dissect or anything?"

"Molly wouldn't let me have any body parts," he pouted. Sometimes Molly Hooper was frustrating. A nice pair of feet wouldn't go amiss at the moment.

"Gee, Sherlock, I can't ever imagine why Molly wouldn't let you nick another set of human remains from her lab."

"I needed them for my experiments…"

"You stole Mr. Henderson! Almost all of him! His wife came to identify the body only _his head wasn't there! _Not to mention the fact that you took his liver, his kidneys, and his feet.I'm surprised Molly even let you back in after that."

Sherlock snickered. Mr. Henderson's head had been a particularly fine specimen. It had been worth the shouting match. "Please, Kai, Molly is infatuated with me. She'd let me do anything I wanted. All I have to do is smile." He turned to face her directly and shot her the winning Holmes grin. It was somehow both charming and terrifying, like the Cheshire Cat.

Kai shook her head. "You're a manipulative little sod, you know that right?"

Sherlock inspected his fingernails while saying, "It's been useful in my line of work."

"Right." They lapsed into a companionable silence before Kai spoke again. "You should find a flatmate, Sherlock."

Sherlock turned his body on the couch ever so slowly so that he could face her. His face was a blank slate, but even from a distance Kai could tell that his eyes had shifted into that steely grey that indicated a storm was coming. She could practically hear the gears in his head shifting.

"Why would I need a flatmate, Kai?" His dark, honeyed baritone practically rumbled in his chest. "I have you."

Kai smiled. "How sentimental of you, Sherlock. But I don't pay your rent. A flat mate could help you out with that and… I don't know, keep you entertained when I'm away. You know that I'm going to probably be away more and more in the months to come. Maybe you could take them to crime scenes with you." She chuckled at that thought. She had published her own poetry and it had been met with surprising success for a book of poetry. She was also doing some occasional travelling for theatre work and was absent from Baker Street more than she liked to be. The memory of Sherlock's last incident—cocaine this time—was still raw and painful in her mind.

She was unprepared for Sherlock's reaction to her statement. He sat up and shot her a withering glare that he usually only reserved for the Yarders and Mycroft. He crossed his arms even more defiantly over his chest and frowned a little deeper.

"You make it sound like I am a child, Kainat. An ignorant child that needs watching while Mummy is away. I am no child, Kai. I am perfectly acceptable of taking care of myself and I do not need anyone hovering over me like a nanny!" The anger was practically steaming off of him.

Kai's eyes widened and she threw up her hands in defense. "Oh no, Sherlock, that's not how I meant it at all! I know you are not a child…"

"Then why are you suggesting this? If I don't need watching, then why do I need a flat mate?" He stared at her for a second. "Oh…I see. You don't want me going back to the drugs if you're away for long periods of time and I don't have any work to do. You want me to get a live-in babysitter so that I don't go off and try to overdose again, which I never intended to do in the first place!" He was up and stalking around now, thoroughly incensed.

Kai couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice and the small tear from escaping her eye. "Yeah, Sherlock, I am worried. I'm worried about you, okay?! You nearly died on me for the second time two years ago and I can still picture that day as if it had just happened. I'm afraid that if I leave or if I get hurt you won't be able to resist and you'll hurt yourself again! You are so childish and so selfish sometimes. Can you imagine what it would do to me and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade if you up and died on us again?! Can you, Sherlock? And I'm not just talking about the drugs, Sherlock. You deal with criminals and murderers and rapists all the time and you've got no one to watch your back. Who watches the watchmen, Sherlock?"

Sherlock muttered something under his breath and walked into the kitchen. Kai got up and followed him, looking at the tall, thin frame as it hunched over the table, gripping the sides with ferocity. He heard her footsteps approaching and he looked up at her. His eyes were dry but there was still a lot of tempestuous energy in them.

"Why can't it just be you, Kai?" She heard the near pleading undertone in that cool baritone voice that she loved so much. It almost broke her heart.

"Sherlock. You know how much you mean to me. God, Sherlock, I… I love you. You've been my best friend for years and we've gone through so much together. But I have my own life to lead and it's independent from yours. You are such an important part of my life, but we both know we need the space to be our own people. I can't come trailing around crime scenes with you. I don't think Anderson would appreciate me vomiting on his shoes every time." She paused as she saw his facial muscles tweak into an amused half-smile. "And you would be bored as hell in my book signings and my rehearsals. Not to mention the fact that I'm seeing Angelique now. She likes you too, surprisingly, but the three of us all here in one flat would just be too much."

Kai walked closer to Sherlock. She pulled his torso upright—he didn't fight her—and wrapped her arms around his midsection. She was of a height that she could stare him almost directly in the eye, but instead she laid her head on his shoulder as she felt his arms fasten on her back. "You are my _a chara_, Sherlock. My best friend. You always will be. I only suggested a flat mate so that I wouldn't feel guilty about leaving you alone. I'm sorry."

Sherlock squeezed her tightly and let a moment pass while his mind churned. A flat mate… a new person to adjust to. It didn't sit very well with him, but he couldn't deny the truth in her words. It would be nice to have some help with the rent. And maybe, just maybe, he could con the flat mate into accompanying him on crime scenes. There was just one tiny problem.

"Kai," he murmured. "I'm a sociopath. Who'd want to live with me?"

Kai pulled back a little and looked into his eyes. She flashed him a grin and said, "Believe it or not, I think I might have already found you someone."

Sherlock blinked, disbelieving.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Dr John H Watson

Chapter Thirteen: Dr. John H Watson

**Sherlock blinked, disbelieving.**

Sherlock was fairly certain that he was hearing things. Because there was no way in hell that Kai had just said that she had found someone that would be suitable to live with him. That was almost a mathematical improbability. And Sherlock was quick with numbers…he could do that math.

They released each other and Sherlock stared into Kai's universal eyes, today a swirling haze of light greens and misty greys. He read the honesty and the mischievousness in the lines of her face and decided to play along with her little scheme.

"Who? Who is it?"

Kai smiled. "Do you remember Clara?"

Sherlock frowned. "Your ex-girlfriend?"

"Yes, Sherlock." Honestly Kai was pleasantly surprised that Sherlock remembered that. He had the unfortunate habit of deleting things from his mind that he deemed unimportant and Kai had always assumed that her lovers had been on that list. But then again…Clara had given him John the skull… "Clara got married a few years ago, remember? Anyway, apparently Harry's brother is in town and is looking for a flatshare. He also seems to think that he would be impossible to live with. So Clara texted me and asked if my impossible friend would be willing to bunk with their impossible friend."

Sherlock let the facts settle in his brain. He hadn't attended Clara's wedding so he knew nothing about this…Harry or the brother. Still, there was a possibility that this man would make an acceptable addition to Baker Street. Not a big possibility, but a possibility nonetheless.

"What does he do?" Sherlock inquired.

Kai grinned. "Oh come on, Sherlock. You think I'd deny you the chance to deduce the poor man to tears?" She beamed even brighter and tugged on the neck of his dressing gown. "Go put your clothes on and go to the lab at Bart's. We'll meet you there."

Sherlock shrugged and began to move towards his room. He stopped and spun back around. "Wait, why the lab at Bart's?" It certainly was an odd meeting place for potential flatmates.

Kai poked her head in from the landing and said, "Oh didn't I mention it? Molly's got a body for you. Might be murder." She beamed at him and took off down the stairs.

Sherlock spun around and dashed to his room. _Murder!_ He dressed quickly, ran down the stairs and out the door, all the while yelling at Mrs. Hudson that there was a murder and he'd be late and might need some food.

To which Mrs. Hudson replied, "I'm not your housekeeper."

000000000000000000

Dr. John Watson sat alone on the park bench, staring into nothing and letting his mind wander. It was a beautiful day in London, really. The air was brisk but the sun was out and there were no traces of the thunderstorm that had rolled through last night. There were small families in the park happily doing all sorts of family-type activities. Joggers trickled by as well as the occasional couple or two. It would seem that contentment was seemingly bleeding out of every pore and every molecule in the park.

But John Watson felt none of it. In fact, John Watson didn't really feel much of anything except for an aching hollowness that ate away at his bones. His life felt… like it wasn't his anymore. It was like watching a film of someone else's life or being in someone else's dream. But then again maybe that wouldn't be so bad…maybe if it was someone else's life they wouldn't have flashbacks and nightmares about the war. About Afghanistan. About young men and women dying in your arms and you unable to stop it. John Watson didn't care for this at all. But John Watson was a soldier. And soldiers…well, they soldier on whether they like it or not.

Ella, his therapist, was desperately attempting to get John to go out and participate in the world. John had even started a blog at her encouragement, but to this day it remained as empty as John's soul. Nothing ever happened to John. He was just… John. Plain as his name. A former Captain in the RAMC, a doctor, and now a veteran with nothing to go on.

"John? Dr. John Watson?" John started out of his reverie as a tall young woman approached him. She was beautiful… if beautiful was the right word. Her face was seemingly genderless and ageless. Her pale skin was clear and colored by faint but tasteful makeup. She had strong cheekbones, inky black curls that hung around her face, and the most startling eyes that John Watson had ever seen. The eyes were grey, but painted with splashes of bright greens and blues and even gold around her pupils. John checked to make sure his mouth wasn't hanging open.

"Dr. Watson?" the young woman asked, throwing him a brilliant smile that showed even, off-white teeth. John nodded his head in acquiescence.

"I am Dr. Watson." There was something…oddly familiar about the woman now that she was sitting beside him on the bench.

"Dr. Watson my name is Kai O'Meara." When her name didn't appear to have an effect on him, the young lady added, "I'm one of Clara's friends? We met at her and Harry's wedding?"

Right. John remembered now. "Oh! Hello. It's certainly been a while hasn't it?"

"It has. Harry told us that you were off fighting a war, getting shot at or something. What happened?"

John glanced briefly at the slim cane lying between his legs and then back at the girl. His eyes were not unkind, but they were hard. "I got shot."

Kai almost burst out into laughter at the doctor's succinct answer. That was definitely in the manner of one Sherlock Holmes. Oh this was going to be brilliant. The unstoppable force and the immovable object incarnated as Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and Dr. John Watson. She smiled and said, "My…condolences, I guess. Harry said that you were planning on staying in London?"

"I can't afford London on an Army pension," John said.

"Flatshare then?" Kai queried.

John gave the woman a tired smile. "Who'd want to live with me?" It was more of a rhetorical question, but John was surprised when the woman said,

"I've got someone in mind."


	14. Chapter Fourteen: The Journey Begins

Chapter Fourteen: The Journey Begins…

**A/N: We all know the story of how John and Sherlock came to live together (or at least we know BBC's interpretation of it). Since I am taking my creative license by working Kai into this already established point in time, the dialogue isn't word for word from ASiP. I just got lazy. Plus we know that time isn't linear, it's more like a ball of wibbly…whoops, wrong fandom. Continue….**

Twenty minutes later, John Watson found himself being escorted into a laboratory at Bart's by the silent but smiling Kai O'Meara. She had been strangely close-mouthed about the potential flatmate, choosing only to cryptically say, "He's a friend of mine." Said woman was currently holding open the door for him, and so he went through, eyeing all the new technology whirring and buzzing in the small space. He also notice a man with dark hair slumped over a microscope down the long table, squeezing something from a pipette onto a slide.

"Bit different than my day," John mentioned as Kai sauntered down the table towards the man. John watched as the man stood and looked at Kai. And then John's brain hiccupped for a second as he looked back and forth between the man and Kai O'Meara. They could have been twins. Same inky black curls, approximately same height, both thin and owners of clearly defined cheekbones.

"Can I borrow your phone?" the tall man asked of Kai. John noted that his voice sounded like…a purring jaguar hiding in a cello. It did funny things to John's ears. _Good Lord, did I really just think that?_ Meanwhile, Kai made a face.

"Just use the landline."

"You know I prefer to text."

"Sorry, my phone is in my coat and I left that in Molly's office on my way through."

John waited for a moment in the silence before clearing his throat and saying, "Here, use mine." The tall man turned his head to look at John for the first time. _Good God_. John saw the same mystical grey-green-blue eyes that he had seen on Kai. _Maybe they are twins_…

The man strolled to the end of the table where John was standing. He looked John in the eye, grey matching blue for a moment. Then he nodded his head in thanks and took the proffered phone and flipped it open.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" John looked at the tall man sharply. The question had been asked so nonchalantly that John almost answered without hesitation. But then…how could this man have possibly known…?

"I'm sorry…how did you know…?" John's question trailed off as the man launched forward with a rather impressive if not alarming diatribe describing how John's hair, posture, tan, and limp all told him that he was a soldier. John did everything he could to keep his mouth firmly clamped shut. He threw a look in Kai's direction before he replied, "Afghanistan."

She chuckled. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Her question was aimed at the taller man, who gave her a small grin and nodded his head. "This is Dr. John Watson."

Sherlock nodded and went back to the microscope. He fiddled with the knobs a bit before asking, "Does the violin bother you?"

John looked at Kai, who looked right back at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The violin. I sometimes play the violin, helps me think. I often go for days without talking or eating. I think it's important that flatmates know about each other before they move in together. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I left my riding crop in the morgue." The tall man said this as he bustled around the room, gathering his coat and scarf. Kai had moved to the door, holding it open for the man, who was obviously leaving.

"Wait, we're moving in together?" John asked incredulously.

The tall man turned round to John as he came up to the door. "That is why we're here, is it not?"

"But I don't know anything about you! You don't know anything about me. I don't even know your name or the address we're supposed to be living at."

"I know you're an army doctor recently back from Afghanistan, your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, you and your brother don't get on very well and he's a drunk. I think that's enough to start, don't you?" The man leaned over and pecked a small kiss on Kai's cheek before he turned to leave. He paused halfway out, leaning his thin face around the door saying,

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street." And with a wink and a click of his tongue, he was gone.

John goggled at Kai. She simply smiled and said, "Lunch?"

00000000000000000000000

The next day, Dr. John Watson looked up at the black door with its gold knocker under the number 221. He sighed heavily. _I cannot believe I am doing this_. Here he was on Baker Street at a prime little piece of property that he'd never be able to afford getting ready to move in with a man he'd just met and who apparently knew all there was to know about him. It was madness. Pure and utter madness. And yet, John Watson was perfectly okay with it. He was still…baffled by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his uncanny…talents, but there was also an undeniable magnetic pull that seemed to reel John in. John shook his head. _Maybe Ella was right…maybe I am losing it. _He sighed again and reached up to bang on the knocker as a cab pulled up to the curb.

Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the cab, paid the driver, and approached John Watson. John held out his hand and Sherlock took it. "Mr. Holmes," John said, giving Sherlock's hand a firm shake.

Sherlock was in a particularly good mood today. There had been three seemingly serial suicides in the past few weeks and now there was this particularly intriguing Dr. John Watson character in front of him. It was like Christmas. "Sherlock, please, Dr. Watson."

"John," he said, letting go of Sherlock's hand. He looked around a little. "Prime spot," he said conversationally. "Expensive."

Sherlock placed his hands behind his back. "Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, cut me a fair deal. I helped her out when her husband was up for execution in Florida."

John raised an eyebrow. "You helped him avoid execution then?"

Sherlock smiled. "Oh no, I ensured it."

John blinked but was prevented from saying anything else on the matter because at that time, the door to 221 opened and a small, older woman in a simple plum-colored dress appeared on the stoop.

"Sherlock!" she said, her mellow voice filling with grandmotherly pride and happiness. The tall man leaned over to give the woman a hug.

"Mrs. Hudson," he intoned, "Dr. John Watson." He indicated the man to his right and then dashed inside and up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson held the door open for John, who limped his way inside and up the stairs after Sherlock.

John walked into the cozy little flat and looked around. The furnishing was simple and homey but there were traces of a madman everywhere. The post was held to the wall by the mantle with a lethal looking knife. There were boxes of files and stacks of papers littered to and fro by the desk. There was a sinister looking Warhol print of a skull hanging on the wall and…_dear God were those feet on the table? _John tried to ignore that. Overall, it was messy, but comfortable and John was surprised at how he immediately felt like he was home.

Sherlock was making some halting remarks about cleaning up a bit when Mrs. Hudson wandered over. "So Dr. Watson, what do you think?" she asked. "I think it will do quite nicely, thank you," he replied.

"There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms," the older woman casually remarked.

John blinked. "Of course we'll be needing two bedrooms…" What was this woman implying? He glanced in Sherlock's direction but the lanky man was caught up in studying something on the mantle rather intensely. That's when John noticed the skull.

"A skull?" he queried.

"Friend of mine," Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

"I named it John." Both men turned to face Kai as she entered the flat. She smiled at their unblinking faces, thoroughly amused by the perplexed look on John's face. "Coincidence, of course. Although now when Sherlock talks to John now…someone could actually answer back." Sherlock snorted.

John looked at him. "You talk to the skull?" _Of course…_

Sherlock looked back as if John was the crazy one. "The skull doesn't argue with me." As John muttered something under his breath and turned back to look at the skull, Sherlock took the opportunity to study the doctor more closely. John's hair was blonde, a sandy blonde shot through with streaks of lighter blonde and silver. Sherlock had never seen blond hair that looked like that. His eyes were…well he could say blue, but that would be a severe undercutting of the shades of cerulean, azure, cobalt, and ocean blue that he saw there. The lines on his face spoke of long days and long nights and laughter and heavy things weighing on the doctor's life. His body was compact but lean and practical, the influence of a soldier's life still evident in his gait and presentation.

Sherlock blinked a few times. Maybe Kai was right. His new flatmate would certainly provide him hours of deductive entertainment. He wasn't boring, this one. That was a first.

Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to wander back in, interrupting Sherlock's scrutiny of the good doctor. "How about these suicides then, Sherlock? Three of them…dreadful business."

"Four," Sherlock intoned quietly, as he moved to stare out the window. "Something's different."

The three other occupants of the room looked at Sherlock inquisitively, but at that moment, Detective Inspector Lestrade bound up the stairs and into the flat. Sherlock was on him in an instant.

"What's different?" His voice was clipped, urgent.

Lestrade answered just as efficiently. "You know how they never leave notes? This one did."

He gave Sherlock the rest of the information, ignored his protests about working with Anderson, and left as quickly as he had come. Sherlock watched him go, listening for the slam of the front door. His face split into a wide grin and he jumped up and down, his hands clutched into fists.

"Four serial suicides and now a note, oh it's Christmas!" He was suddenly a flurry of activity, running around the flat locating his jacket and his scarf, pulling them on while engaging in the all too familiar I'm-going-on-a-case banter.

"Going to be late tonight, Mrs. Hudson, might need some food."

"I'm not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, get a cuppa, make yourself at home. Kai, are you coming with me?" He stopped and considered her.

She shook her head. "I don't do the bodies, Sherlock. But you go have fun. Play nice with the other kids."

Sherlock grinned, tapped her nose with a gentle index finger, and dashed out the door. John blinked a couple of times before passing a hand over his face and collapsing in the armchair. Kai took up the other one across from it and smiled gently at the overwhelmed doctor. Mrs. Hudson sidled up to John's chair.

"I'll get you that cuppa, you rest your leg." The words were barely out of her mouth when John shouted back, "Damn my leg!" Mrs. Hudson and Kai both started but John was already apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just…" He tapped his bad leg with the cane as if to say, 'I wish I could not think about the bloody thing.' Mrs. Hudson nodded sympathetically. "It's okay, dear, I've got a hip."

"I'll take that cuppa, if you don't mind, then," John said.

"Just this once. I'm not your housekeeper."

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them."

"Not your housekeeper," came the quiet reply.

Kai smiled as she watched the banter between the older landlady and the doctor. She could tell that John was going to fit in nicely around the flat. He had seen the skull, the experiments littering the table, the messy flat, and Sherlock's morbid exuberance over dead people and he hadn't run screaming. It was a good sign.

"You were an army doctor, correct?" Kai and John both looked to the doorway as they heard Sherlock's quiet baritone.

John stood as gracefully as he could with his cane. "Yes."

"Any good?"

John fixed him with a hard gaze. _A soldier's gaze_, Kai thought. "Very good," John said.

"You've probably seen all sorts of things as a doctor in Afghanistan. Danger and bloodshed and all manner of nightmarish things?"

"Yeah…yeah enough for a lifetime," John replied.

Sherlock stared into John's incredibly blue eyes for a moment before asking, "Would you like to see some more?"

There wasn't even a second's hesitation before Dr. John Watson said, "Oh God, yes." And with that, the two men were heading off down the steps, yelling to Mrs. Hudson that they were both leaving and to hold the tea. Kai could hear Mrs. Hudson's gentle admonishments about Sherlock's excitement over murder, saying "It isn't decent."

Kai's grin grew even wider as she heard Sherlock reply, "Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" And then they were gone.

She settled back in the armchair contentedly, thinking. Sherlock had displayed a great amount of interest in the good doctor. It wasn't really noticeable to most people, but Kai had been around Sherlock for… twelve years now, approximately, and he had studied the doctor in the same way that he studied a particularly interesting case file, a new violin concerto, or even Kai herself. _This is going to be interesting_, she thought.

Meanwhile, in a cab shuttling towards Lauriston Gardens, John was listening to the world's only consulting detective tell him how he had deduced so many critical facts about John and his life. The reply John gave was "That was…amazing."

The rest, as they say, is history.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Game Begins

Chapter Fifteen: The Game Begins

**A/N: Yes, this is my interpretation of The Great Game, emphasis on the word interpretation. I like to sneak the cleverer bits of the actual dialogue in when I can, but this is largely how I see the event occurring with Kai's presence in it. Sometimes it fits within the existing action/dialogue, sometimes it doesn't. If you've come this far with me…thank you, thank you, thank you! **

John was exhausted. He'd had such a day at the clinic…a line of hypochondriacs convinced they had contracted everything from avian flu to skin cancer, plenty of crying toddlers with ear infections, shifty teenagers, cranky geriatrics, and one persistent mother convinced that her young child had a movement disorder when really he just liked to throw his apple juice—and anything else—across the room. All he wanted to do was have a nice cup of tea, a hot shower, and watch crap telly until he fell asleep.

But as he trudged wearily up the stairs to his flat, his heart froze in fear as he heard gunshots. _Sherlock_. He ran the rest of the way up and alighted on the landing…only to see Sherlock Holmes in his dressing gown, shooting the wall opposite with a handgun. His handgun.

"Sherlock!" he yelled. The tall man with mussed curls and worn pajamas turned to look at him. "What the HELL are you doing?"

"Bored," the man said with zero inflection. He squeezed off two more shots at the wall.

"Excuse me?" John spluttered.

"Bored! Bored, bored, bored. I am bored," Sherlock said as he handed over the gun, which John took and unloaded.

"What about that Russian case?" John asked, placing the gun in the desk drawer.

"Belarus," the younger man replied. "Open and shut domestic, murder. Dull."

"So you decided to take it out on the wall?"

"The wall had it coming," Sherlock mumbled.

"Right." John walked into the kitchen. "Got anything in the fridge? I'm starving." He pulled open the door, cursed loudly at what he saw, and shut the door again. John thumped his forehead against the fridge door. A head. There was a head in the fridge. The fingers, toes, kidneys…hell, even the liver he could deal with. But a sodding head? That was it. He stormed out into the living room.

"A head. You left a _bloody_ _head_ in the fridge!"

"Where else was I supposed to keep it? I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death." Sherlock turned a questioning eye on John, raising his eyebrow as if John was the mad one for asking. John threw up his hands in surrender, shaking his head and walking to his chair. Sherlock studied him for a moment. "I see you wrote up the taxi driver case. A Study in Pink?"

John nodded. "Yes, well there was a lot of pink."

Sherlock let the silence hang for just a moment before looking at John and quoting, "Sherlock Holmes has the great ability to see into and through anyone but remains surprisingly ignorant about a multitude of things."

John gaped at him. "Oh come on, I didn't mean it…"

"And I suppose you meant 'surprisingly ignorant' in a good way, did you?" Sherlock interrupted. They continued to argue about ignorance, the solar system (primary school knowledge, John protested), and the space in Sherlock's hard drive, finishing when Sherlock grumbled, "Why don't you just stop inflicting your opinion on the world?"

With that, John stood from his chair, grabbed his coat, and began to walk toward the door. Sherlock watched from his curled position on the couch, asking, "Where are you going?"

"Out," John replied tersely. "I need some air." And he left. Sherlock stood after a moment and watched him go from the window. Something…strange bloomed in the farthest corner of his mind. It was small and Sherlock almost discounted it, but it tugged faintly at his heart and his stomach. Sherlock made a face and spun around, facing the empty room. It was quiet.

And then, the room exploded and sent him flying to the floor.

00000000000000000

John Watson was running. He had dashed out of Sarah's flat upon hearing the news of the explosion and had taken off. Now as he approached Baker Street, he saw the huge gaping hole in the building across the street, the scattered mess of glass, and the crumbling piles of brick that lay about. The windows had all been blown out in their flat and he could see the chunks of debris and coating of dust lying about. He pushed his way through the crowd of people and crossed over to his home. _Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock_.

John ran up the stairs shouting, "Sherlock? Sherlock!" He burst into the flat to find the man sitting quite comfortably in his chair, dressed and fiddling with his violin.

"John," he stated, nodding his head towards him. John walked over to him, pulled the violin gently out of the man's grasp and sat it down. John bent over and scanned Sherlock's face and neck for injuries, asking, "Are you okay?" When Sherlock just stared instead of replying, John pushed his hands gently through Sherlock's hair, seeking head wounds or signs of concussion. His phalanges found their way to his face, where they gently touched a small scrape by his jawline.

Sherlock remained very still as John continued his search. The feeling of the doctor's hands in his hair had been… interesting. Sherlock fought to keep the quiver that ran down his spine from showing. He also worked very hard to slow down the beating of his heart, which had begun to pick up its pace as John checked his neck and his hands. Sherlock was positively baffled by his reaction but kept the perfectly stoic look on his face. When the doctor released him, he stared him in the eye and asked, "Satisfied?"

John only then seemed to realize what he had been doing. A very faint blush colored his cheeks and he took a step back. But then he laid his hand gently on top of Sherlock's head and said,

"I'm glad you're okay." And with that, John stepped away and went to change his clothes. Sherlock stood and went to fetch his violin again, but stopped short because at that moment, Mycroft Holmes sauntered into the flat. Sherlock raised his eyebrow at the man.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock watched as his elder brother surveyed the room carefully, looking at the dust and small bits of rubble. He then turned his scrutiny towards Sherlock, appraising him for injury, apparently. When Mycroft saw nothing apparent, he gave a slight nod of his head and sat down in John's chair. Sherlock took the seat across from him.

When John came back into the living room, he saw the two Holmes staring at each other as if they could blow each other to bits if they concentrated hard enough. Sherlock broke the gaze first, glancing up at John as he moved over towards the desk. He then turned back to his brother and said, "I simply cannot take the case, far too busy. How's the diet, by the way?"

Mycroft sneered at Sherlock, saying "Fine!" in the most exasperated tone he could and then stood, taking the case to John instead. John accepted it while Mycroft explained the curious nature of the death of one Andrew West and his connection to the Bruce-Partington program with the Ministry of Defense. "Perhaps you could convince my dear brother to look over the file, John. He might listen to you." John raised an eyebrow, but Mycroft was already moving out the door, Sherlock sawing away at his violin in an attempt to make him go faster. He finished with one final snick of the bow across the strings. Somehow Sherlock made it sound like an insult.

"Why didn't you take the case, Sherlock? You don't have anything going on. You shot the wall last night because you didn't have anything to do." John raised the folder in his hand.

Sherlock was saved from answering by his ringing mobile. He fished it out and answered, listened to Lestrade's voice, and said, "Of course, I'll be there immediately." He stood, fetched his coat, and looked at John. "That was Lestrade. He has something for us. You coming?"

"Do you want me to come?" John asked. After the whole… weird touchy thing that had happened when John came back to the flat… _Sherlock might not be comfortable with me_.

But Sherlock just smiled and said, "Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger."

00000000000000000

Across town, Kai O'Meara was leaving an office. Her eyes were swollen and red, her brain was numb, and her body moved on its own accord towards her car. This couldn't actually be happening. _It wasn't real. It was all a lie. There's no way…_

And then Kai's mind went black as something heavy crashed into her skull.

When she came around, she was in her car. She had a curious feeling that there were weights on her chest, so she looked down. What she saw there made her mind reel with terror. Then she noticed that there was a pager and a small mobile sitting in front of her. The pager was blinking. She reached forward and read it slowly. The tears started to fall.

This was just not her day.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: 12 Hours

Chapter Sixteen: 12 Hours

**A/N: Again, this is my interpretation of the beginning of the Game. I like to take what the gods of the BBC have written and make it dance according to my own music.**

Sherlock strode into Lestrade's office, his ridiculous coat flapping behind him like the tails of a concert pianist. Lestrade shook his head as he thought that the man probably owned a set of tails. He then had the most ridiculous image of the mad, brilliant detective all dressed to the nines in a tailcoat and spats, twirling a pencil thin mustache and making snide remarks in perfect French. Lestrade shook his head again. He needed to take a vacation. For now, he just settled with the fresh cup of coffee on his desk.

He handed the detective a package. "We found this locked inside a strongbox in the building on Baker Street."

"What is it?" John asked.

"Don't know," Lestrade answered. "But it's got his name on it." Lestrade pointed his chin at Sherlock and John raised an eyebrow. "We've checked, it should be safe to open."

Sherlock took the package over to the desk lamp, slitting it open and making remarks about the quality of the stationary and the writing on the front. With gloved hands, he reached inside cautiously and removed the item.

John's eyebrows shot up again. "That's the phone…the pink…the pink phone."

"What, from A Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked.

"No, this phone is new, but someone has gone to great lengths to make it look…" He stopped and turned around to Lestrade. "A Study in Pink? You read his blog?" His tone was incredulous.

"Thanks, Sherlock," John said sarcastically. Sherlock rolled his eyes at him and turned his attention back to the phone.

"Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?" Lestrade asked. Sally Donovan snorted. John assumed his "I'm innocent" face. Sherlock scowled and opened the phone.

"You have one new message," the phone stated. The message opened and a shortened equivalent of the Greenwich pips sounded over the phone's speakers. Five pips.

"It's a message," Sherlock said. "Secret consortiums used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips to members of their organizations….it's a warning."

"What, is that all?" Lestrade asked. Puzzles were so not his division.

"No," Sherlock murmured as another chime sounded on the phone. He pulled up the message.

It was a picture of Kai's living room.

John heard Sherlock's breath hitch. Sherlock stared at the phone a moment longer before uttering a single, heavy syllable.

"Go." And they were out the door, hurrying back to Baker Street as quickly as they could.

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Sherlock banged on the door to Kai's flat, calling her name over and over. Nothing. Mrs. Hudson came over with the keys, letting the men into the small flat.

John checked all the other rooms. Kai was nowhere to be found. He found Sherlock in the living room, staring at the floor. John followed his gaze and saw a pair of trainers sitting by the fireplace. They were a man's trainers, and they had gone out of style years ago. Sherlock moved towards them when John caught his arm.

"Careful, this is a bomber we're dealing with," John said, tightening his grip on the man's arm. Sherlock gazed into the endless ocean of blue looking up at him and said, "It's okay. I've been expecting this for some time."

Sherlock eased himself to the ground right over the shoes when a loud jingling pierced the heavy silence, visibly startling all three men in the room. He removed the phone from his coat pocket. The number was blocked, but he answered it. "Hello?"

Kai's trembling voice sounded through the speakers. "H-hello, S-sherlock."

Sherlock's entire body coiled tighter. John stepped over to stand next to him, staring at the phone and the tinny voice coming from it. "Kai? What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not c-crying. I'm typing and t-this b-bitch is r-reading it out." Kai's smooth alto voice was now resonating at a higher pitch, the words breathless and squeaky. Sherlock had never known such fear in her voice and it… scared him. His hands began to shiver. He felt John's hand on his arm squeeze tightly. "What do you want?" Sherlock's voice was poisonous, low and threatening and vibrating with rage.

"I thought t-this would b-be a nice way to s-start our little game, s-sexy. You have 12 hours to solve m-my little puzzle before I k-kill her." They heard Kai's breath hitch once more as she choked on a sob, but then the connection was severed. Sherlock lowered the phone and took a deep breath. Lestrade was already on his mobile and headed out the door, barking terse instructions. Sherlock closed his eyes and for a moment, leaned closer to the warm form of John Watson. John leaned back, giving silent support.

And then Sherlock Holmes pulled away, put his gloves back on, and picked up the shoes. His face was a passive, blank mask but John saw the grey hellfire that burned in his eyes. He nodded at John, murmuring that he was going to the lab at Bart's. John offered to meet him there, feeling as if he should alert Mrs. Hudson to the nature of things and to be careful. Sherlock nodded in mute agreement and appreciation.

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An hour later, John slipped into the lab as quietly as he could. Sherlock was bent over the microscope and muttering to himself. John couldn't help but be reminded of the first day they had met, all those months ago. It felt like a lifetime ago. John's life had become a whirlwind of crime scenes, taxi cabs, foot chases, body parts on the table, take away dinners, midnight violin serenades, minor government officials, detective inspectors, and one brilliant, mad, beautiful, and completely bonkers flatmate. John had dived into this new life like a circus performer into a teeny cup of water…disappearing completely. And although John thoroughly disliked finding heads in his fridge and such, he found himself knowing with absolute certainty that he wouldn't abandon this life for anything.

And now he watched as his flatmate…_oh sod it_, his best friend… stared into the equipment in front of him with a blank look on his face. The Holmesian stoicism was perfectly normal, John knew. Sherlock could never be bothered to allow emotions to ruin his objectivity. But this time it was different. Sherlock was the proverbial duck on the pond. On the surface, everything was calm and smooth. But underneath… he was churning the water in a fury trying to stay afloat.

John walked over to Sherlock and leaned up against the table next to him. "Got anything yet?"

Sherlock did not reply. But John saw his fingers tighten on the knobs of the microscope.

John softened his voice. "She's going to be okay, Sherlock. You won't let her die."

"Everyone dies, Doctor," Sherlock sneered. He hadn't raised his head from the machine in front of him. "This hospital is full of people dying, why don't you go cry by their bedsides. Your rank sentimentalism is doing nothing to help me or her at the moment."

John stared at him. Anger flared up inside of him, but he tamped it down when he read further between the lines. Kai O'Meara had been Sherlock's only friend for years. The bond they shared was something that utterly astounded John at times. Their lives had often taken them in opposite directions from each other, but in the end, they always came back for each other. It was…family. And that's why the crude words Sherlock had just tossed at him didn't hurt. John was well versed enough in the language of Sherlock Holmes to know that the words were flung in frustration. So instead of lashing back, John merely placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Sherlock flinched slightly under the doctor's touch, but then he settled and took a heaving breath. Sherlock leaned back from the microscope and looked up into John's gently lined face. There was no anger there, except for a thin depression of his lips that showed Sherlock that he shared the same fear for Kai's safety. But the doctor's compassion and sympathy shone through his endless sapphire eyes and Sherlock felt something warm tickle his stomach. He shook his head slightly and leaned further back in the chair. John gave his shoulder a couple of rubs and then removed his hand, smiling down at him.

"Tell me what you see," Sherlock said, pointing at the trainers that were sitting on the table beside him.

"Oh, Sherlock, I am not going to do this."

"Why not?"

"Because…because I'm not like you I just can't…" He waved his hand about in the air, trying to give a name to Sherlock's abilities but failing.

"Please, I insist," Sherlock pushed. "An outside opinion helps me think." He looked pointedly at John, who huffed, picked up a shoe, and looked at it. He gave a few remarks about the trainers and then looked Sherlock in the eye. Sherlock chuckled. "Very good, John. You missed nearly everything of importance, but you're getting better." John grumbled and listened while Sherlock explained. At the end of the diatribe, John opened his mouth to speak, but was prevented by doing so by a beeping noise from a nearby machine.

Sherlock swiveled back to the machine giving a triumphant cry. At the same time, Molly came into the lab saying, "Did you find something?"

A young man in a tight t-shirt appeared at the door. Molly waved him over saying, "C'mon in, it's okay." The young man was the proverbial appearance of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He gaped at Sherlock in what could only have been awe.

"Hi!" he said, sidling closer to Sherlock. "So you're Sherlock Holmes…Molly's told me all about you."

"We're together," Molly beamed. "Office romance. This is Jim, from IT."

Sherlock glanced at the man and mumbled, "Gay."

"What?" Molly spluttered. But Sherlock passed it off and went back to the microscope.

Sherlock ignored the young man, Molly, and John, focusing instead on the results of the test. The man in the tight shirt tried to engage him in conversation but it wasn't working. He heard John's voice in his ear as well. He idly noticed that the man had taken his leave, but Molly was still attempting to pester him about his comment that the young man was obviously gay. He handed Molly the slip of paper the man had left under the bowl he'd dropped—the paper with his number on it. Molly ran out of the lab, John made a patronizing comment, and Sherlock ignored it all. There was no time for this. 6 hours remained.

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Three hours later, John ambled back inside the flat. He had just come from a meeting with Mycroft that Sherlock had arranged since he was too distracted by Kai's problem to deal with his brother or Andrew West and the missile plans. John didn't mind…the problem of Andrew West's body being found in Battersea without a train ticket or anything was a problem that stumped but intrigued John. The answer was staring him in the face, he knew it…but he just couldn't see it. _That's the problem_, he mused. _I see but I do not observe_.

He walked in the door just as Sherlock banged his hands on the table and shouted "Botulinum!" He came into the kitchen and asked, "What?" Sherlock was up and dancing around the table, pointing to shoelaces and cultures and other odds and ends lying about.

"Carl Powers had eczema, bad enough to warrant a prescription. Someone put botulinum in his medication, he took it, and two hours later he seized in the pool and drowned."

"Botulinum? Wouldn't that have shown on the tox screen?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "It would have been out of his system by then, but it was still in the skin cells on the shoelaces." Sherlock bent and typed into his laptop.

"So the killer…the killer had his shoes the whole time?" John thought quickly. "Does that mean he's our bomber then?"

Just then, the pink mobile began to ring. Sherlock answered and Kai's voice rang out from the speakers.

"W-well done. C-come and get me." Kai's voice broke and she began to weep even harder.

"Kai? Kai, where are you?!" Sherlock demanded. "Tell us where you are!" She gave them the location and they were out the door, John on his mobile calling Lestrade.

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Three hours later, Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson were sitting in Kai's hospital room. She hadn't been hurt, really, but they were monitoring her for signs of a concussion and wanted to keep her overnight. Sherlock had protested, but both John and Kai had overridden him. Now they were just sitting there, trying to piece together the events. Sherlock was sitting in the bed with Kai, his left arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. John was sitting in the chair to Kai's left, holding her hand. Mrs. Hudson excused herself to go find them some tea.

"You can't remember anything else?" Sherlock prompted.

"Maybe we should let her rest, Sherlock," John hinted. "She's told us everything twice already."

"It's okay, John," Kai said. She was tired and her head hurt, but she was safe and sitting with the only family she possessed; the mad genius and the army doctor. "I was walking down the alley towards my car when I got hit in the back of the head with something heavy. I blacked out and woke up in my car. I had the…bomb strapped to my chest and there was a pager and a mobile on the dash. I looked at the pager and the words were all there."

"You didn't see anyone?" asked Sherlock.

"Just the people walking by. No one suspicious."

"You didn't hear anything?" asked John.

"Just the sound of my own heart beating."

They all sat in silence for a few moments. John stood up, saying, "I'm going to go find Mrs. Hudson and help her with the tea." He leaned over and kissed Kai's forehead, meeting Sherlock's eyes as he withdrew. What he saw there made his heart murmur a little. John ignored it, smiled at Kai and then left the room quietly.

Kai nestled into Sherlock's embrace. She felt his lips gently press into her temple and she sighed, deciding to give into the exhaustion and sleep. Before she could go, she heard a tiny voice in her ear say, "I'm sorry." It was Sherlock's voice, but it was so un-Sherlock that she almost didn't believe it.

She turned her face around to his and glared at him. "This is not your fault."

He nodded. "It doesn't mean I don't take responsibility for it."

She kissed his nose. "I knew you weren't going to let me be blown up, Sherlock."

He just nodded, lost for words. She resettled into his grasp and closed her eyes. The breaths they took matched perfectly.

"Although," she said as she drifted off, "you could've hurried up a bit." She said it in a teasing tone, and she was rewarded with a small chuckle and another kiss to her temple. And then she slept.

**A/N: It's long, I know! Thanks for sticking with it!**


	17. Chapter Seventeen: The Pool

Chapter Seventeen: The Pool

"I'm going out," John remarked. The week they'd had… bombs and puzzles and the like… John needed a break. He had run into Mike Stamford and they'd agreed to meet up for a pint or two and catch up. John could use a pint or three right about now, anyway. He lived for the adrenaline rush and the excitement of the chase, but… John had left the explosives behind in Afghanistan. He had always been terrified of the bombs more than the bullets. _A bullet could be removed_, he thought, fingering his shoulder where his own puckered scar lay. A bomb was goodnight Vienna. He winced as he remembered that poor old woman who had died and the child who had almost died before Sherlock noticed the nebulae in the painting. He shivered. _I definitely thought I left this in Afghanistan. _

John picked up his jacket and made his way to the door. Sherlock hadn't moved from the window. "Did you hear me?" John asked.

"You're going out," Sherlock stated.

John was surprised. He had been paying attention. "We're out of milk. I'll grab some on my way back." Always the damned milk.

"I'll get it," Sherlock said. John almost laughed aloud as his flatmate turned to face him.

"Honestly?" John asked. "You'll go to the shop and get milk."

"Mmmm," Sherlock mumbled in acquiescence.

"Wow, okay." John nodded. Surely this meant the end of the world was nigh, but John decided to take it in stride. He resisted going over to check and see if Sherlock had taken something that was making him crazy. "I'll see you later then." Sherlock mumbled something back, but John didn't hear.

When John had left, Sherlock picked up his laptop and typed a message.

'Found: Bruce-Partington plans. The pool. Midnight.' _Come and play_.

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Sherlock walked into the dimly lit space, the shimmering reflections of the water dancing on the walls. The scent of chlorine was cloying. He glanced around the room, the click of his shoes echoing slightly in the chamber. He held up the memory stick—the drive that held the Bruce-Partington missile plans.

"Brought a little getting-to-know-you present," Sherlock said, looking around the darkened space.

Then a creaking over his left shoulder caught his attention. _Ah. There he is_. He turned slightly to face the noise, the stick still held aloft.

It is very hard to surprise Sherlock Holmes. But when he turned to see his nemesis, the face he saw caused his heart to turn to stone and drop all the way to his feet.

_No_.

John Watson walked into the room, a heavy coat over his trim frame, his face a cool mask of indifference. "Evening," he said. His voice betrayed nothing. He could have very well been entering their flat on Baker Street. Sherlock turned to face him fully, lowering the stick and taking a few steps closer.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it Sherlock." John put no inflection on the end of the sentence. "I bet you never saw this coming."

"John…" Sherlock's voice cracked ever so slightly. _This couldn't be_… John couldn't possibly be Moriarty. _Could he?_ No…not John, not his John. Not the faithful John, with his jumpers and his blog and steadfast loyalty. It didn't make any sense.

But then Sherlock watched in terror as John opened the coat he was wearing and said, "What would you like me to make him say next?" There was a bomb on John's chest…identical to the others.

_Oh_.

"Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer," John stated with zero inflection. Sherlock walked closer. Moriarty was a clever one, wasn't he.

"Nice touch this, the pool where little Carl died," John said. He was tilting his head slightly, listening to the voice that sounded in the earpiece Sherlock now saw he was wearing. "I stopped him… I can stop John Watson too, stop his heart."

Sherlock took another step closer to John when he heard another sound at the far end of the pool. Another door opening…and then he heard the voice. The soft, lilting voice.

"I gave you my number…thought you might call."

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When Moriarty had exited the building, Sherlock only waited a split second until he dropped the gun and dove forward towards John on his knees. His fumbling fingers wrestled with the catches on the vest that were holding the explosives to John's chest. He vaguely heard John's voice saying his name, but he ignored it until he had ripped the vest and the jacket off and slid them towards the opposite wall. John collapsed against the wall partition and Sherlock followed him down, nestling the gun in his waistband.

Sherlock knelt in front of John and pulled him into a tight embrace before the doctor could protest. He held him there for a moment, running his left hand into John's hair. He felt John chuckling softly into his shoulder and then he felt his arms reach round his back and squeeze tightly. Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss into John's temple and was relieved to hear the doctor laugh again before feeling John place a warm kiss on the side of his neck. Sherlock smiled and let the warmth seep into his stomach. It was okay. John was okay. When Sherlock let go, he leaned John back against the partition, keeping one hand on the doctor's neck. He looked into John's smiling eyes.

"Well I'm glad no one saw that. You…ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool and hugging me…people might talk." John's mouth quirked into a small smile.

"They do little else," Sherlock replied. He gave his partner and friend a grin, which John returned. Unfortunately, they had little time to enjoy the moment, for at that time, a multitude of red dots peppered John's chest. The door at the end of the pool swung open and Jim Moriarty stepped back in.

"Sorry boys! I'm sooooo changeable!" The exuberance in his voice was clear but malevolent, like the tolling of a death knell.

Twenty seconds later, Sherlock looked at John. The two men stared at one another, silently saying words they knew they'd never say out loud. John gave Sherlock a barely perceptible nod accompanied by a blaze of cobalt fire from his eyes. Sherlock spun around and aimed the Browning at Moriarty. And then ever so slowly, he lowered the gun to the vest of explosives resting near Moriarty's feet. The world disappeared except for the sound of John's breathing, the stare of Moriarty's dark eyes, and the weight of his finger against the trigger.

The seconds ticked by.

Out of nowhere, the familiar disco twang of the BeeGees lit up the deadly silence in the room. Moriarty's eyes slid shut in annoyance. Sherlock shot John an almost bewildered look before turning his attention back to the third man.

_Ah, ah, ah, ah staying alive, staying alive_. How ironic.

"Do you mind if I get that?" Moriarty asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "No, of course… you've got the rest of your life."

Jim Moriarty nodded his acquiescence and answered the phone. "Hello? Yes, this is he, what do you want?" He pivoted, turning his back on the two others and listening to the caller. A flare of anger rose up. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" he yelled. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will ssskin you." He drew out the consonant on skin to make his point. _Well, fuck_. He lowered the phone. "Sorry boys, wrong day to die."

"Did you find a better offer?" Sherlock sneered.

Moriarty ignored him. "Oh don't worry, I will kill you someday." He raised the phone to his ear and headed towards the door. As he approached the double doors, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. And then he was gone.

Sherlock lowered the Browning slowly. He looked down to John, who was staring at him with the most unreadable look on his face. It lingered somewhere in between resignation, admiration, fear, longing, and fury. Sherlock offered the doctor a hand up. John grasped it, stood up, and then used the leftover momentum to lean into Sherlock's chest unashamedly. Sherlock was never very good with outward displays of affection outside of Mrs. Hudson and occasionally Kai, but he didn't hesitate a moment to bring his arms around John Watson once more as they stood alone in the pool. Their racing hearts beat in tandem and a mutual sense of relief washed over them. After staying like this for several long minutes, they finally separated, but Sherlock kept an arm wrapped around John's shoulders as they left the pool and called Lestrade.

They never talked about what they had silently agreed upon in the pool that night.

**A/N: I know Kai wasn't in that chapter...but I wanted to illustrate a changing dynamic in Sherlock and John's relationship. Cue the feels... **


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Kings and Pawns

Chapter Eighteen: Kings and Pawns

Three months of high-profile cases had splashed the name Sherlock Holmes all over the newspapers. The Reichenbach Hero, they called him. It seemed that the city of London was abuzz with the happenings of the madman genius and his live-in partner and blogger. Holmes was all the rage—as was any new hero or sensation that garnered the attention of the public. The sale of the infamous "ear-hats" –as Sherlock called them—had been steadily rising for months. And then Jim Moriarty surfaced like a demon from hell.

_Along came a spider and sat down beside her_.

James Moriarty, king of the criminal class and the weaver of felonious webs across England. Now he was on trial for his riotous crime of breaking in to the Tower of London, the Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison all at the same time. It had been sensational. London had become a hive of activity during the trial.

And at the heart sat James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes.

Kai bit her lip and decided to turn on the telly. The courts were handing down a decision on James Moriarty today. Kai had wanted to wait to hear it from John, who had been there every step of the way, but the pull to know was overpowering. She clicked on the set and watched with growing horror as she saw the news reels.

Not guilty? How was that even possible?

Kai heard the gentle treading of feet on the stair. John must be home then. She listened as she heard Sherlock cease the melody he was playing on his violin. She listened again for John's voice, but she didn't hear it. This was a different voice. Still a man's voice…but it was…softer and the accent was very different than John's. Curious. She wanted to know who this person was. She crept out of her flat in her bare feet and ascended the stairs silently. The door of their flat was open, so she crouched in the landing around the corner of the wall.

"…nuclear codes. I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order if I wanted." That was the stranger. His voice was like a lilting bell, clear and ringing but gentle. She listened more. The banter was so strange but yet so familiar…

Oh.

Comprehension struck Kai in the face like a fist. There was only one person this could be. After the announcement of not-guilty, there was only one place for Jim Moriarty to go. And he was here.

"In a world of locked doors, the man with the key is king, and honey you should see me in a crown." Poetic. The cadence of the Moriarty's voice sent a cold shiver up and down her spine. Kai's heart began to beat faster as she listened. What on earth were they talking about?

"_The fall is coming, Sherlock." _

"_Our problem. The final problem." _

Kai's mind whirled trying to make the pieces fit together. But then she heard a muffled thump in the room. Someone had stood up and was getting ready to leave. And here she was still sitting in the hallway. She scrabbled to her feet and plastered a smile on her face. She knocked on the open door while peeking in.

"Sherlock?" she called in a sing-song voice. "Sherlock are you around—oh! Hello there!" She tried not to let the anxiety she felt show on her face, so she chalked up a natural smile and waved. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't know you had company."

"I was just leaving," Moriarty said, brushing by her without a second glance. He left the room and walked down the stairs, Sherlock fixedly staring after him. When they heard the front door slam, Kai fixed Sherlock with a deadly stare.

"Sherlock, what was he doing here?" Her voice was a shoddy attempt at menacing. It came out sounding rough and cracked.

Sherlock fixed her with a stare. "Catching up."

The silence permeated every inch of the flat as they stared at one another.

"What is he going to do to you, Sherlock?" Kai asked. Her voice slipped into weariness instead of outright anger. She was getting tired. She tired easily these days.

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "James Moriarty doesn't like to get his hands dirty."

"Oh stop it, Sherlock," Kai replied with vexation. "I am not so daft that I don't realize what's going on here. These games he's been playing with you… he'll tire of them eventually. And when he doesn't want to play with you anymore…he'll get rid of you."

Sherlock scoffed. "What a ridiculous analogy, Kai. He is a consulting criminal, not a child. He is dangerous, but everyone makes a mistake. And when James Moriarty makes his mistake I will be there to take him down."

"And what if he takes you down first, Sherlock? Is that what he meant when he said 'the fall is coming'? He's going to kill you, Sherlock. Don't you remember what he said? John told me that night at the pool…he said he'd burn the heart out of you."

"And as I told him," Sherlock replied coolly, "I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that isn't true." Kai's voice was soft and her eyes began to fill with tears. "What about John? Mrs. Hudson? Me? What are we going to do without you, Sherlock? If he solves his…final problem by taking you out, where does that leave us?"

Sherlock stepped closer to Kai and gently took her thin face in his hand, brushing the tears that were rolling down her cheeks with his thumbs. Kai had never been good at masking her sentimentality despite her prowess as an actress. But her consistent concern for his well-being touched a place in his heart that would have died out years ago except for her. Kai had been the single flame that kept his heart alight…and now John Watson had stepped in and joined her in the task.

"You've always been my heart, Kai," he whispered. "You and John…you've been my heart." Because Kai had chosen that moment to press her face into his chest, she missed the slow recognition and understanding that seeped into his expression after he finished speaking. He put his hands gently on her back and rubbed small circles there. It seemed to him that the bones under his hands were a little more prominent than they usually were.

"I just don't want you to be a pawn, Sherlock," Kai whispered. "This is just a game to him…a game designed to destroy you. You are not a pawn to be sacrificed. There's no coming back from that in this game." And because her face was still lying against Sherlock's chest, he missed the slow look of understanding that crossed her face. She pulled back from him, wiping her eyes with her hand.

Sherlock gazed intently into the cool grey eyes opposite him. They were a thin, misty grey today with no extra colors or lights. That only happened when Kai wasn't feeling well. He looked harder at her. Her cheekbones were sticking out more than usual, as were the bones of her back and collarbone. There were dark circles under her eyes that she tried to hide with makeup. She looked…exhausted.

Kai caught Sherlock deducing. "Sherlock…stop deducing me." The tone was still the spunky Kai that Sherlock knew, but something was definitely off. Kai was sick. Very sick, if he deduced correctly.

"You're sick." It wasn't a question. Kai's eyes widened and she inhaled sharply. She turned to leave the flat, but Sherlock stopped her with a thin hand on her arm.

"Tell me," he whispered his voice hoarse. Kai turned and then motioned to the couch, indicating that they should sit. _I guess I couldn't hide it forever_. They sat together and Kai took Sherlock's hands in hers and stared into the grey eyes. They were twinkling with soft greens today.

"Lymphoma," she stated. "Stage four. Nothing we can do." It was said without inflection.

Sherlock blinked at her. His emotions were always on a very tight leash so Kai never expected him to show any outward signs at the news. She was not, however, prepared for the single silver tear that escaped his eye and cut a path down his pale cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. He didn't bother to ask how long. It was inconsequential.

Kai wiped the tear away with her hand and then kept her hand at his cheek. Her thumb gently traced his cheekbone. Then she simply curled up into a ball and tucked herself into his side. Sherlock placed the Union Jack pillow on his lap and she put her head on it. He stroked her inky black curls with his right hand. His left hand was draped over a protruding hip bone and clasped tightly in her left hand.

They were still sitting like that when John came home half an hour later, but Kai had fallen asleep. He hung up his coat and looked at Sherlock, who was still combing her hair with his fingers. John was startled to see one tear threading down Sherlock's face. He walked over the couch and sat on Sherlock's other side, wiping the tear away with a strong hand.

Sherlock explained in three words. John's face fell as he looked at the young woman curled beside them. He put his left arm around Sherlock's shoulders and drew him closer. Sherlock went willingly, leaning into the intersection of John's neck, chest, and shoulder where he fit perfectly. John's hand joined his in stroking Kai's curls. They stayed like this for a long time.

When Mrs. Hudson came up bringing milk and tea, she found them there. All were asleep.

**A/N: PS: This is what happens when you watch sappy British romantic comedies at midnight and then do your writing...**


	19. Interlude

Interlude: Tar and Feather

"_You always look so sad when you think others can't see you…when you think he can't see you."_

"_I don't know, something in Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper." _

"_This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot." _

"_A footprint. That's all he had." _

"_I don't believe Sir Boast-a-lot's stories."_

"_You aren't seriously suggesting he's involved, are you?"_

"_Marked perishable…I had to sign for it. Funny name, German." _

"_Cameras. We're being watched."_

"_You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home…there."_

"_He wants to destroy me, inch by inch." _

"_Sherlock, I don't want the world believing that you're a… a fool." _

"_You're a bloody idiot, Lestrade. Go fetch him in right now." _

"_What if this wasn't the only time he's done this?" _

"_Don't interfere or I'll arrest you too." _

"_Hostage! Yes, that works." _

"_Take my hand!" _

"_I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down." _

"_There is no Moriarty, never has been." _

"_I'm a storyteller, just a storyteller, show them!" _

"_NO! He's Moriarty!" _

"_Wrap the lie up in truth and make it palatable."_

"_There's only one more thing he needs to do to complete his game and that's…"_

"_Watch his back, because I've made a mistake." _

"_The most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen…"_

"_Moriarty will have Sherlock destroyed and you've given him the perfect ammunition."_

"_Molly, I think I'm going to die." _

"_What do you need?"_

"_Come and play. St. Bart's Hospital rooftop."_

"_She's dying…you machine!"_

"_No, friends protect people." _

"_I'm waiting…" _


	20. Chapter Nineteen: The Fall

Chapter Nineteen: The Fall

Sherlock winced internally as John grabbed his coat and stormed out of the lab. It pained Sherlock to deceive John like this, but he needed to protect him. Sherlock Holmes did everything in his power to make sure that his emotions did not rule over his consciousness like they did with ordinary people. But the doctor… steady, loyal, wonderful John Watson…had taken up a little niche in his heart that Sherlock couldn't shake. Kai had been in his heart since they were sixteen years old. His lifelong friend and unwavering companion, even if their lives were taking them in opposite directions. But John was different. Somewhere in all of the late nights, the take away dinners, the foot chases through London, and the banter… Sherlock Holmes had fallen for John Watson. It had happened almost instantaneously, but it had taken a hell of a lot longer for his brain to catch up. The feeling was strange and nothing if not intimidating. But he had the strange feeling that John reciprocated. His heart…his family. John. Kai. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. They would all be safe.

Sherlock stood and grabbed his scarf. _Let's play, Moriarty_. He wound the blue fabric around his neck when he heard the door of the lab creak open. He turned.

Kai stood in the doorway. She was wearing dark clothing and her hair was tucked into that ridiculous death Frisbee hat. She must have had it pinned too, because the curls that usually nestled around her shoulders were now flirting with the tips of her ears. Her face seemed longer and thinner, the cheekbones ever more prominent.

"Where are you going, Sherlock?" she asked.

He breathed in. "Out. Business to take care of you know."

"Right. I suppose you've heard that Mrs. Hudson's been shot."

He feigned innocence. "Oh god, no I hadn't. You run and catch a cab, I'll be right behind you."

She smiled faintly. "You've never been able to lie to me, Sherlock Holmes."

He stared at her. What was she up to?

She smiled again and walked over to him, coming right up and into his personal space. She removed the deerstalker from her head. He was wrong. The curls hadn't been pinned, but cut very short. Had she found an alternative treatment for her cancer that required this?

"I know what you're going to do, Sherlock," she said quietly. Her eyes never left his.

He raised his eyebrow. _Surely not_… "And what am I going to do?"

A tear slid out. "Martyr." The word was like poison on her tongue.

Sherlock glanced at the woman. Unbelievable. "How did you know?"

She scoffed at him. "You think you're the only clever one around, Sherlock Holmes? It makes sense. Moriarty's been putting on the tar and feathers to your name for over 24 hours. He wanted to destroy you. He'd taken your reputation. There's only one thing left."

He didn't fight at all when she slid her arms around him and held him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her and held on. Twelve years and he still couldn't fool her. He supposed it was fitting that this was the one goodbye he would make in person.

Kai pulled back but didn't let go. "My _a chara_," she whispered. "I love you so much."

Sherlock's heart threatened to leap out of his chest. "I love you too, Kainat. My best friend."

Kai moved her head and pressed her soft, pink lips to Sherlock's. In that last kiss lay all the things they had never said. In that kiss, there were all of the moments… the boarding school, pumpkin pie, University, plays, crime scenes, drunken texts, the experiments in the fridge, the broken hearts (all of them Kai's)…the drug abuse, the bomb, the anger, the fury, the love, the light, the hope… Everything that was them was in that kiss and that kiss was everything in them. A farewell between friends.

Kai pulled away and heaved on a dry sob. Sherlock tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but he suddenly felt… very dizzy. His vision was swimming and his knees suddenly didn't seem capable of supporting his weight. He collapsed onto the ground and felt Kai steady his head. Black and red speckles floated across his vision and his tongue felt thick. His mind was trying to fight the darkness, but it was like trying to hold the ocean back with a broom.

The last thing he saw was Kai's eyes. They were a mournful grey, like a rainstorm on your birthday.

0000000000000000000

Kai stood upright and steeled herself for her task. She looked in the mirror and adjusted her dark curls, check the part to see that it was in the right place. She picked up Sherlock's coat and shrugged into it, snagging the scarf and tying it into place as well. She knelt down and kissed Sherlock's forehead, slipping a letter into his suit as she did. Straightening, she checked her reflection once more and headed out the door, muttering to herself as she went.

One minute later, she opened the door to the rooftop of St. Bart's Hospital and stepped out into the weak sunshine. On the far end of the roof, she saw the man with his fancy suit and dark hair. _Curtain's up. One final performance_. The wind carried a song to her ears.

_Ah, ah, ah, ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive. _

0000000000000000000000000

John Watson got out of the cab and pulled out his mobile. He called Sherlock but got no reply. Frustrated and terrified, he began to run towards the hospital's entrance.

That's when movement on the roof caught his eye. He looked up. His heart dropped like an anvil down to the soles of his feet.

Sherlock was standing on the ledge.

Why? God, no, what was going on, why was Sherlock on the roof? John watched as he saw Sherlock raise a hand to him.

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted.

And then Sherlock jumped.

0000000000000000

Molly opened the lab door and scurried in. The body bag had just been delivered to the morgue. All she needed was to…

She squealed as she almost tripped over Sherlock Holmes' feet. What on earth… What was he bloody doing in here?! She started as he groaned and rolled over.

She patted his cheeks with a little force. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up, what is going on?"

Sherlock blinked open his eyes and looked around, finally settling on Molly's face. "Molly…what happened?"

"You bloody tell me!" she hissed. "I thought they just brought your body into autopsy!"

She watched as all the blood drained from Sherlock's face. "No… Molly, please… where's Kai?"

"Kai? I haven't seen her. What's going on, Sherlock?"

Sherlock had a tight knot of molten lead sitting in his stomach. There was no way it could have worked. Moriarty…he would have seen right through it…wouldn't he?

Molly made another exasperated sound as the lab door opened again and John Watson shuffled in, tears streaming down his face. He saw Molly first…and then his eyes widened in shock as he looked upon Sherlock.

"Sh…sherlock?" he whispered. It couldn't be… John walked over and slid on to his knees, crouching next to Molly. He placed a flat hand on his friend's cheek, caressing the pale skin. Sherlock leaned into the touch but there was a panicky edge to his eyes that neither John nor Molly missed.

"How?" John whispered. His voice was not cooperating with him. He coughed and cleared his throat, trying to get it back into his normal register. "How is this possible? I saw you… Sherlock, I saw you on the roof…"

A single tear slid down Sherlock's cheek. "Kai…" The truth rammed home. Molly ran out of the lab to go check the identity of the body in her morgue. John slid closer to Sherlock and held him as the tears began to fall faster.

**A/N: This works...right? **


	21. Chapter Twenty: The Letter

Chapter Twenty: The Letter

Mycroft had explained what he knew. She had coordinated with Mycroft to set up protection details for Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John, saying that Moriarty would more than likely have assassins trained on them as he carried out his plans to destroy Sherlock. When Mycroft's surveillance proved her right, the wheels had been set in motion to cover Sherlock's friends.

The only thing she hadn't covered was her plan to throw herself off a roof in Sherlock's place.

The why was always the hardest part of the puzzle. The hows, wheres, and whens were all relatively easy to place, but when it came to why… that was something different. Sherlock didn't know why Kai had thrown herself off the building. She had died. At least in Sherlock's plan he hadn't actually planned on dying…

It had been two weeks. John and Sherlock had taken refuge in their flat, enveloped in a cocoon of Mycroft's surveillance teams. They had managed to snag most of the assassins that Moriarty had placed, except for one Sebastian Moran. But Sherlock had other things to think about at the moment.

The letter Kai had written was still unopened. It was lying on the coffee table under a candid photo that John had taken after one of Kai's performance. The photo showed Kai with her mouth open in a full laugh, her eyes crinkled with delight. John had placed the broad-brimmed hat that was a part of Kai's costume on Sherlock's head. Kai and John were laughing. Sherlock was pretending to scowl but the corners of his lips were turned up in a grin.

Sherlock stared at the photo. _My a chara_….

He reached down and picked up the letter. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed the answers.

John noticed that Sherlock had aggressively reached out for the letter, snagging it and tearing open the envelope. He got up from the desk and walked over to the sofa. He sat down next to Sherlock and slid over so that they were touching.

"Do you want me to be here when you read this?" John asked. He didn't want to invade Sherlock's space…but the comfort might be warranted.

Sherlock nodded. "Please," he murmured. His voice cracked on the syllable.

John threaded his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock returned the gesture and settled into John's embrace.

John chuckled a little. "People might talk."

Sherlock gave a faint smile. "They seldom do anything else." And with that, he opened the letter.

_Sherlock,_

_My a chara, I hope that someday you will be able to forgive me for what I have done. I have known about your plan for a while now. I suspected what you were going to do the day that Moriarty showed up in your flat. I knew I was right when Kitty Riley ran her story about Richard Brook (really, how unimaginative) and the slander campaign began. I knew I had to do something to make sure that you wouldn't do what you were going to do. I had to keep you safe. _

_But why, you might ask. After all, this whole façade centers on you and James Moriarty, the consulting detective and the consulting criminal. Two halves of the same whole… black and white, yin and yang, angels and demons. I know you do not think of yourself as being on the side of the angels, Sherlock, but I don't always think you see yourself as clearly as we see you… as I see you. You call yourself a sociopath…but that's simply not true. No matter how you long to deny it, you are the most…human…human being I've ever known. The fact that you were willing to throw yourself off a building to save us is testament to that. _

_I have watched you for twelve years now, Sherlock. You've been my best friend and my steadfast companion this entire time. We've gone our ways and followed the paths that our lives took, but when the storms came, we knew that we could always find comfort in one another. You have always been my best friend…my soul mate and my brother. And now I watch you with John and I see how completely happy he makes you (really, Sherlock, you think you're the only observant one around here?). I also see how happy you make John, even if he does find the idea of toes in the crisper repelling. If nothing else, you had to stay here for him._

_I told you months ago that I was dying from lymphoma. The truth was I was dying a lot faster than I let on. I was getting weaker and sicker every day and I knew you could tell. I decided that I didn't want to leave quietly…do not go gentle into that good night and all that. I didn't want to be swept into my grave like dust, just another body or just another soul. I'm an actress, after all…and I cannot resist a dramatic entrance. When I was certain that you were going to martyr yourself, I decided to take your place. I was confident that if I adjusted my appearance and did my best voice acting, I could convince Moriarty that I was you. If you're reading this…I guess I gave the best performance of my life. _

_I am so sorry for all of the deception. And please don't be angry with Mycroft, he honestly didn't know that I was going to do this. I guess in the end I… feared that no one would remember me. I was facing my own slow, painful death at the hands of my own body. I faced eternity and I balked. I didn't want to sink into oblivion. I was going to die…and I wanted it to be on my terms. It might sound very selfish, but hey… I'm dying; I think I deserve to be a little selfish now and again. _

_I don't know what's going to happen to you when this charade is all over. I hope that Moriarty's web will dissolve and you and John will get to live out your days in relative peace (ha!). For you I know that this will mean the continued chase…the work that you love so much with the partner that you love so much. Maybe when you retire you can finally go to the country and keep bees. I remember you telling me that you'd like to keep bees when you were eighteen years old. _

_John…I have no doubt that you will be reading this too. You have been such a strong light for Sherlock. You have filled the gaps in his life that I could not, and for that I am very grateful. I am sorry that I am dumping all of the poor sod's burdens on you (ha!), but I know that he is in very capable hands. You have always been like family to me, Dr. Watson. I love you. _

_And so, my very wonderful family, I think it is time for me to go. I know that a letter pales as an apology, but if I am successful I will not be around to say it in person. Again…please know that I chose this…for you and for me. You can take care of each other. And I will have gone out with my boots on (as the Americans say). _

_I love you, Sherlock Holmes, my a chara. And I love you, John Watson, defender of our family. See you on the other side. _

_Kainat_

John was crying but there was a peaceful smile plastered on his face. He watched Sherlock fold the letter, kiss it, and place it back on the coffee table. He turned in John's embrace to look up at his face.

John saw the tears there. Oh yes, the tears were slowly beginning to dry on Sherlock's pale, beautiful face. John kissed Sherlock's cheek, tasting the salty tears. When he pulled back he looked into Sherlock's eyes. What he saw there made him drown in his own mind. It was neither angry nor sad. It was not happy or sorrowful or infuriated. It was not light or dark. No, there nothing so ordinary in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

John saw infinity.


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue: Announcement

**Six years in the future. **

From the blog of Dr. John Watson-Holmes:

_My husband Sherlock and I would like to announce the birth of our first child, our daughter, via her surrogate mother. _

_Her name is Kailinn Amelia Watson-Holmes, and she was born on March 15 at 3:47 pm. She was welcomed home by Sherlock and I, as well as her uncles, Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade, her aunt Molly Hooper, and her granny Martha Hudson. And we like to believe that Kailinn was also welcomed by the spirit of her aunt, Kainat O'Meara, for whom she is named. _


End file.
